Veil of Smoke
by Rene Austen
Summary: "The time in Nornheim", when Thor did battle and Loki did tricks: an exercise in tactics and brotherhood that Thor and Loki would each come to remember very differently. Also: Frigga being awesome. Set pre-Thor. Rated T for realistic battle violence.
1. Chapter 1

**_Veil of Smoke_**

**_A Loki and Thor Story_**

**_Part 1/6_**

* * *

_"Nervous, brother?"_

_"Have you ever known me to be nervous?"_

_"Well, there was the time in Nornheim . . . "_

_"That was not nerves, brother. That was the rage of battle."_

_"I see . . . "_

_"How else could I have fought my way through a hundred warriors and pulled us out alive?"_

_"As I recall, I was the one who veiled us in smoke to ease our escape."_

The golden head tilts back, and warm laughter fills the fire-lit shadows, inviting them to share his humor.

_"Some do battle," _he says._ "Others just do tricks."_

* * *

Nornheim was gray.

Crumbling pillars of gray rock. Flat plains traced with whorls of drifting gray sand. Clumps of grayish-green shrubs clinging to life along the edges of charcoal-hued ravines.

Skies the color of ashes. Silvery, scudding clouds.

Gray, gray Nornheim.

Thor fingered the edge of his cloak, and scowled down at its soft, thick folds. Gray, of course. When Loki had conjured it, he'd handed it to Thor, brows raised innocently, and said, "The color of shadows and skulking. It suits you so well." And Thor had frowned, taking it reluctantly from his brother's hands, unable to summon any answering jest.

He pushed the cloak aside; his fingers brushed the heavy, unfamiliar scabbard hanging at his waist, and the lingering tension that had been dogging his heels since they'd entered this Realm slithered up his spine and curled itself into a painful lump at the base of his skull.

"Why don't I have Mjolnir?" he growled. It was not the first time those words had passed his lips that day.

His hand rested, for an uneasy instant, on the hilt of the sword shoved into the scabbard, its weight and balance so different from the Hammer. Around him loomed the slumping, wind-scoured walls of the gully they'd been traversing, walls that had been steadily closing in as the gully's floor had dropped. Thor rolled his shoulders, restlessly, shrugging off the itchy feeling of confinement, tipping back his head. The sky above was a gray scrim of dull light and thin, hurrying clouds.

A few strides ahead, his brother paused, turning his head without really looking at Thor.

"You don't have Mjolnir because it's such a . . . loud object. It bends the currents of dark energy around itself and bellows its presence so belligerently that even the dullest of mages could hear it. And the Queen of this Realm is no dullard."

Thor's lips tightened. "I know that, Loki. I did not require an actual answer."

This time his brother's eyes did reach his, alive with humor. "Of course. Merely making certain," he said.

Ahead, the gully's walls opened abruptly, the gray light brightening over a large, open plain. Their destination, and their mark.

"At last," Thor muttered. This roundabout, back-door approach had not been his choice; if his wishes had been followed, he and his brother would have traveled boldly down the central vale and arrived here hours before. But Loki had flatly refused.

_We'll be overrun before we come in sight of the Keep, brother, and you know it. The back way is the only way, through the foothills where no one can see us approaching._

He'd agreed, reluctantly, seeing the wisdom in it, curse it all. But he despised scuttling and creeping; and furthermore how had Loki known of this approach in the first place?

He glanced at his brother now, as Loki eased his way forward and crouched at the gully's narrow mouth. He cleared his throat to ask, but as Loki's head turned to regard him, he brought his cupped fist to his lips and manufactured a cough, instead.

There were some things, he considered, that were better left unknown, where Loki was concerned. Where Loki's magic was concerned.

"Come." A grin flashed across Loki's face, as he lifted one hand in careless invitation. "Feast your eyes upon the enemy, brother."

Thor slipped forward, hunkering down at Loki's side, his gaze sweeping the empty floor of the valley before them and then sliding up the cliff wall to their left. His eyes narrowed.

The sleek, angular towers of the Nornkeep reared their faces far above the plain, the slim, arched windows and weapon-ports looking out over the void with black, soulless eyes. The walls of the castle were fused directly into the surrounding rock, and even from this distance their massive girth made itself felt. There was no discernible entrance.

"A worthy fortress, yes?"

Loki's voice was edged with humor, still, and, as Thor scrutinized the Keep, searching for breachable perimeters and exploitable weaknesses, he felt his heart lift. The gray tension eased, and a sudden grin lit his features.

"Aye."

He glanced back at Loki, and he saw his own anticipation of oncoming battle mirrored in the sly gleam in his brother's eyes.

"Don't be too eager, Thor." Loki said. "I suspect this endeavor will involve a great deal more subterfuge and much less open blood-letting than you might prefer."

Thor let out a breath, bracing one hand on Loki's shoulder as he leaned out to study the castellated battlements ornamenting the tallest tower. "I'm not a fool, brother. I do realize that it is just the two of us."

"Indeed."

"And within yon Keep lies a force of hundreds."

"Thousands, perhaps."

"Half of which are undying demons."

"That does add a certain piquant flavor to this venture."

"So naturally, of course, we must resort to subterfuge."

"Of course. And naturally subterfuge is your last resort."

"That's why... you're here."

Thor laughed, and rapped his knuckles against the thick leather armor concealed by Loki's gray cloak. Loki's mouth was still for a moment, and then curled upward at one corner.

"Indeed," he repeated, softly.

_That's why you're here . . ._

But even as he said it, Thor's fingers stroked the sword hilt, and he wished, not for the first time that day, that his mother had made a different decision yestereve . . .

* * *

_Loki saw the smoke first, when they'd crested the ridge, fat, lazy curls hovering low over the treetops, and Thor, reining Gyllir to a stop beside him, noticed at once the chiseled stillness which was, in his brother, a certain sign of rapt attention._

_He followed Loki's gaze, and his own face stiffened. He turned in the saddle, holding up an authoritative hand, and his brow creased when he saw how few of the party remained._

_His mother the Queen, followed by a cluster of four or five handmaidens, all of their mounts streaked with lather from the mad, plunging ride. The Lady Sif behind them, her eyes nonchalantly scanning the trees to either side. Beside her, face stern, the warrior Hogun, who turned as well to lift a hand to a figure far in the rear, green cloak flying: the swordsman, Fandral._

_And that was all. Thor shook his head, momentarily diverted. "What has become of the rest? Where is Volstagg? We began the hunt this morning with fifty riders!"_

_His mother smiled gently, as she smoothed one finely-detailed glove further up her wrist._

_"The pace you set was very . . . ambitious, my son. I suspect the less enthusiastic ones have long since turned back and are even now ensconced, back in the City, before a comfortable fire."_

_There was a covert exchange of longing glances among the handmaidens, and the Queen's smile broadened. But then she too noticed the still, set figure of her younger son, and her eyes sobered._

_"What is it?" she asked. "Loki?"_

_Loki shifted in the saddle, his gaze swinging about to meet hers, but before he could speak, Thor gestured forward, and said, shortly, "There's smoke in the air."_

_The Queen lifted her chin, following the line of his finger, studying it for a moment. She frowned._

_"A fire, in the forest? A lightning-strike?" the Lady Sif hazarded._

_But Loki shook his head, eyes narrowing. "No. . . there's been no rain . . ."_

_Without another word, he spurred his horse forward, urging him into a startled gallop. Thor uttered a muffled oath, and plunged after him; they'd rounded a bend in the road and disappeared from sight before the Queen had gathered her reins._

_Fandral pulled his horse up in a cloud of flying dust, looked after the vanished princes, crooked a brow, and murmured dryly, "Was it something I said?"_

_The Queen smiled at him, and then glanced over at Sif, whose mouth slanted into a half-grin as she cast her eyes upward._

_"After you, my lady," she said._

_The odor of smoke, acrid and harsh, grew stronger with each of the horses' strides. It was not, at all, the warm resinous scent of burning pine, and the Queen's face settled into grave, anxious lines. When at last the forest gave way, and they entered a large clearing, she nodded sadly, unsurprised, at the sight before them._

_It had been a small village, but a prosperous one, each of the dwellings backed by a sturdy barn and storehouse. Now they held the torch of their burning up to the sky, twisted columns of smoke and a few remaining tenacious flames. The villagers were gathered in small knots here and there, their faces soot-streaked and hollow-eyed. An old woman crouched in what had been the village square; her arms wrapped around a shivering cluster of children, who clung to her while their wide eyes peered solemnly at the smoldering ruins all around them. A number of shirtless men had formed a long chain, and were drawing bucket after bucket up from the central well, and flinging the water around the perimeter of the village. They had long ceased trying to save the houses; they sought, backs straining, lungs heaving, to prevent the fire's spread into the surrounding forest._

_Her sons' horses, white-eyed before the threat of fire but too well-trained to flee, were huddled together under the drooping branches of a gnarled spruce. Frigga swung down from the saddle, and tossed the reins to a startled handmaiden who'd scrambled down to join her._

_"Stay with the horses, my dear," she murmured._

_"Yes, my lady, but . . . are you certain. . .is it safe?" The girl faltered under the Queen's stern gaze._

_"All will be well. Stay here."_

_The queen strode forward. She was conscious of the stir behind her as Sif and the others dismounted, but her eyes and mind swept the village before her, seeking for some cause to the bitter stench of ill will that hung in the air, thick as the smoke._

_The shifting, thready rags of smoke parted to reveal Thor, standing grim-faced in the midst of a clutch of villagers, his arms crossed over his chest and his hands curled into white-knuckled fists. As she drew closer she could hear the disconnected fragments, the voices speaking over one another, desperate for their tale to reach the prince's ears._

_". . . out of the shadows, under the trees. We did not hear them coming . . . "_

_"They were carrying firebrands. They were . . ."_

_". . . and spears! And their faces were terrible. . ."_

_A sudden, frightened pause. Nods from every head._

_"Terrible. . ." murmured one of the men._

_Thor held up one hand, though there was no real need. Their eyes were fastened on him like drowning sailors who've sighted a beacon in the midst of a storm. None of them spared her a glance as she approached, though Thor's gaze slid to the side and rested for a moment on her face as Frigga halted on the outskirts of the little circle. His eyes were bleak._

_"What did they look like?" he asked. "How were they terrible. . .?"_

_"How many are dead?" Frigga interrupted, her soft voice cleaving through Thor's deeper tones._

_Startled faces turned to regard her, and then eyes widened as they took in her rich clothing and regal stance. Hands clasped nervously together; necks bent._

_"Your dead?" she repeated, her eyes deep with compassion. She flicked a glance at Thor._

_"Oh, my lady," one of the men began, and then stopped, the words choked in his dry throat._

_"There are. . . no one died, my lady," another finally answered. "They weren't seeking to kill, just to destroy. But. . . " he slowly lifted one hand, and opened it toward a little huddle of people, clasped together before one of the houses. Distantly, Frigga noticed that it was the only structure that hadn't burnt, its colorful yellow walls forlorn and incongruous among the sooty, collapsed ruins that made up the rest of the village._

_Frigga inclined her head, the better to observe the ones he was indicating: a young couple, the man holding a sobbing woman, his own eyes dull, his face so drawn that she could clearly see the skull beneath the skin._

_"What happened to them?" she asked._

_A woman standing at her elbow looked up into Frigga's face and said, "The attackers, my lady. The dark ones took their child."_

* * *

Past the sharp corner of one of the Keep's angular towers, a warrior appeared, clad in overlapping plates of strangely fluid armor and striding with the singularly aimless purpose that marks the gait of a guard performing his duty and nothing more. He walked to the edge of the large courtyard, and surveyed the open valley before him, and then turned on his heel and returned the way he'd come. A faint hum whistled out from between his lips, a martial, minor-keyed tune.

He did not notice the two motionless forms crouched among the rocks piled at the base of the tower, their gray cloaks indistinguishable from stone and brush.

"There departs a man with no knowledge of how closely he walked with death just now," Loki whispered wryly.

Thor flapped his hand behind him in a swift "be silent" gesture, and then leaned forward, enough to slip his head around the corner of the Tower, and see into the gateyard beyond.

After a long moment, he felt a booted toe prod his calf.

When he looked back, Loki was raising both brows inquiringly.

He lifted one hand, fingers spread, and then thumped his own chest.

_Five men_.

Loki nodded.

Thor stood, a slow, silent uncoiling, and, filling his lungs with breath, he felt for the hilt and began to draw the sword.

The motion was abruptly halted. He looked down to see two of Loki's fingers pushing the sword back down into the scabbard with a muffled rasp.

He met Loki's eyes, and his brow wrinkled when Loki lifted his chin and shook his head, once, deliberately.

Thor straightened his shoulders. He splayed his fingers further, directly in front of Loki's face, and jerked his head toward the gateyard.

Loki's expression did not change, but his hand moved in a gesture so emphatically graphic that Thor was obliged to clamp his teeth shut in order to contain a shout of laughter.

Loki spun and stalked off along the wall, his concealing cloak making the movement seem like a random breeze ruffling the rocks themselves.

After a moment, and a longing glance back into the gateyard,-yes, indeed, still only five-Thor followed, and when they'd reached a niche, a junction of two walls that offered concealment, he reached out and pulled Loki to a stop, and hissed, "I take it you have some different scheme in mind?"

"And which of my very subtle hints has given you that acute insight?"

"All of them." He sighed. "And it's a clever plan, is it?"

"Well, whether it be clever or no, I'll allow to judge for yourself, but it does possess one cardinal virtue."

"And that is?"

"Silence."

Thor spread his hands. "Loki, there were _five_ of them. We could have taken them easily. And silently."

"Could we? In an open courtyard, with no cover for our approach?" He flicked a finger against the scabbard at Thor's waist. "As you have been muttering under your breath all this day, you don't have Mjolnir, so our armory is thinly stocked with projectile weapons."

He raised his hands, and for a moment a wicked, winking blade appeared in each of them, and then flickered out of existence once more. "I can take two, but as they fall, and you sprint across the yard, twirling your sword between thumb and forefinger, and launch yourself at one of the remaining . . ."

Thor's face creased into an offended grimace. "_Twirling_?"

" . . . and I conjure more blades to remove the other two. . ."

"What? Since when in any battle do you take four enemies to my one?"

". . . I think you can clearly see that there are many moments, in the spaces between all of these valiant actions, where one or more of our hapless foes might be able to sound an alarm."

Thor tilted his head, skeptical reluctance writ large in every angle of his body.

". . . Thus making your frontal assault far too risky a plan." Loki finished, eyes glinting.

Thor's shoulders rose and fell in a casual shrug that indicated clearly his opinion of risk.

Loki rolled his eyes skyward. "Oh, no doubt, I heartily agree. But we are not risking our own bodily wellbeing, Thor. We are risking the child's."

Thor's face fell, slightly. "True."

"You hadn't forgotten the child, had you? The sole purpose that we stand here in the lee shadow of the Nornkeep, attired so very inelegantly?"

"No, of course I hadn't forgotten. So be it, then. How do _you_ propose that we breach this fortress?"

"Four options are open to us. We can, as you suggest, throw ourselves at the portcullis and trust to our skill and all the gods of battle that one of the gatekeepers doesn't manage a scream for help. . . "

Thor scowled.

"Or we can go over the wall. Or under it. Or through it. Quietly."

"I'm eager indeed to hear how you plan to take us quietly through a wall."

Loki grinned. "Watch and marvel, brother."

He canted his neck, studying the rim of the tower, far above. The battlement was lined with small dark forms; when one of them stirred, fluttering its wings, Thor realized they were birds, live creatures rather than carved ornaments: doves, each garbed in a robe of pearly gray feathers. Loki contemplated them, so still for so long that at last Thor tired of it and growled, "I'm watching, brother, and yet, strange as it may seem, not marveling."

A smile eased the lines around Loki's eyes.

Then he pointed, with his chin. "Look."

A restless shudder through the line of doves, a swift shadow sweeping over them, and in a sudden disordered burst they took flight. A harsh cry pierced the sky's vault.

Thor squinted up into the gray light, until a movement snagged the corner of his eye, and he lowered his gaze to see Loki standing, eyes closed, one hand raised, fingers curling and uncurling in a clawed, beckoning gesture. Thor eyed him for a moment, and then retreated, several steps, his body braced against his own uncertainty, his mind scrambling backward through memory of past battles. Had he ever seen Loki use that gesture before?

But whatever he might have anticipated, it was not the small, sleek form that soared out from behind the Keep's looming bulk, gliding in slow circles, ever closer: a brown-feathered falcon, with a soft white breast.

Loki's hand dropped and his eyes opened, as he murmured, "_Kvethja, haukr_."

The bird alighted on a nearby shrub, and cocked its head askew, haughty displeasure in its bright, black eye.

Loki laughed softly, and crouched down, to meet its gaze at its own level. "My apologies," he said. "It was an abrupt summons."

The falcon adjusted its wings, and clicked its hooked beak. It stared unblinkingly into Loki's eyes, and Loki stared back, his face settling into a blank expressionless shell.

Thor shifted his weight. An uneasy vision swirled behind his eyes, an image of his father bent motionless to peer into the eyes of a large raven; it melted and merged with the sight of Loki and this falcon, and before he could stop himself, he heard his own voice saying, "Has Father been teaching you . . . "

Loki looked up at him, his eyes swimming back from some great depth.

". . . how to speak with birds?" Thor finished. He cleared his throat, feeling suddenly foolish.

Loki straightened, tilting his head mockingly. "Do you truly think that I am communing with this dull creature?"

Thor pursed his lips, considering. "Yes?"

Loki merely raised a brow, though a tightness in the muscles of his neck, and a ripple along his jawline, gave hint that perhaps he was suppressing a smile.

"To what end did you command it?" Thor crossed his arms over his chest.

Loki glanced down at the bird, his face softening. "One does not dictate to a falcon. One can only . . . make a polite request."

"So you _were_ speaking with it."

Loki shook his head, regarding Thor with an exaggerated expression of deep pity. "Of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

Thor threw up his hands and turned away, but he glanced back in time to see a swift grin split Loki's features as he flicked two fingers toward the falcon, up and outward. The bird exploded into flight; in a few moments it was a dark speck lost in the expanse of gray sky.

Thor sighed. "And now I suppose we must wait patiently for its return?"

"Courage, brother. It won't be long, I assure you."

Thor lowered himself to the ground, back against the wall, and said, "By this point, Loki, we could have subdued the gate guards, located the child, freed that same child, and be hastening back toward Asgard. At the very least. And all very _quietly_. We would not have disturbed so much as a hair on a demon's head."

Loki sat beside him, shaking his head. "No, we couldn't. As well you know."

Thor didn't answer. He picked up a stone and turned it over and over in his fingers, before squeezing it tightly in a coiled fist. "You're right, you know."

"Am I? How delightful. What am I right about?"

He tossed the stone away. "I despise subterfuge."

Loki smiled. "If it is any comfort to you, I surmise that you may have some opportunity to vigorously hack a few demon-guards before this day is through."

They were silent; both heads, light and dark, tipped back to scan the horizon, both sets of ears straining for the faint cry that would herald the falcon's return.

Loki drew his knees up, suddenly, and leaned upon them, and muttered, "I hope that Mother is . . . well. I wish that this mad endeavor had not required her aid."

Thor turned to him, eyes troubled. "It is truly so dangerous? What she's attempting?"

"Not always. But it may be." Loki stretched out a hand, studying his own fingers. "Using the Sight to search the present is difficult and wearisome. To use it to delve into the past is . . . well, the Sight strives always to pull the Seeker in after itself."

"It sounds dangerous."

"Yes."

"But Mother is a very skilled Seer."

"Oh, yes. Very."

Thor saw, behind the careful wording of Loki's speech, the uneasiness shadowing his eyes. His heart labored, for a few beats, burdened with the knowledge of his brother's fear.

And then, in the distance, the sound of guttural voices and hooves clicking sharply against rock.

"Damn," Loki hissed.

In the space of a breath, Thor slid his back up the wall and regained his feet. At the edge of vision, he saw the flash of a blade appear in Loki's hand.

Another breath. A loud guffaw, the creaking of a leather saddle. Hoofbeats, nearer now.

A sidelong glance at Loki, who shrugged.

"We cannot allow the Keep to be alerted to our presence," Loki whispered.

"Right. Do you have any subterfuge applicable to this situation?"

"Nothing comes to mind."

Around the curve of the wall, three of the armored guards appeared, mounted on three giant, equally-armored horses. As he drew his sword, Thor watched with grim amusement as their mouths fall open.

"Open blood-letting, then?" he murmured.

The fierce call of the returning falcon sounded in the sky above, as Loki hefted his dagger and answered, "So it would appear."


	2. Chapter 2

**_Veil of Smoke_**

**_Part 2/6_**

_Frigga made her way toward them, the woman and her husband, her eyes on their hunched shoulders, their grief-riven faces. Around her the villagers' voices babbled._

_"They were demon-guards. Out of Nornheim!"_

_"How dared they?!"_

_"Yes, how . . ."_

_"Demons!"_

_The mother of the stolen child lifted her face as Frigga approached. She covered her mouth with one hand, stifling a dry, choking sob as she met the compassion in the Queen's eyes._

_"Why would they do this? Oh, my lady. . . " She bent, and then fell to her knees, her whole body driven into the ground with sorrow and rage._

_Frigga crouched beside her and reached out a hand to the trembling shoulder. "We will retrieve her."_

_The face turned toward her, lit with sudden, fierce hope. The father whispered, "You will send your warriors after her?"_

_Frigga stood. "No," she said._

_Their faces sagged, but Frigga laid her hand once more on the woman's arm, and turned toward Thor._

_"The Princes will go," she said, raising her voice, just a little. "They, alone."_

_He strode forward, a frown wrinkling his brow. To the side, Frigga saw Fandral stiffen indignantly, and the Lady Sif cross her arms over her chest, and Hogun the Grim grow even more still and dour, if that were possible. She flashed a tiny, sympathetic smile at them, and then shifted her stance, enough to bring Thor's eyes to her face; she folded her hands together, at her waist._

_"Mother. . ." he began, but she lifted one finger, slightly._

_"You cannot lead an invasion force into Nornheim, my son, unless you would seek all-out war. And of what use is a smaller number, against the hordes of the Nornkeep?"_

_When Thor nodded, finally, reluctantly, she continued, "This is a task that requires stealth, and individual courage. A task for you and Loki."_

_For a moment, the village square was silent but for the distant crackle of dying flame. Then, Thor said, his voice gaining strength with each word, "So it is, Mother."_

_The villagers thronged around him, some stretching their hands to touch his arm or his cloak, their gratitude so palpable that it hung in the air, thick as the smoke. The child's parents swayed toward him like gale-swept saplings._

_"Thank you, my lord. Thank you," the father murmured, over and over._

_"You will go after her," the mother declared, swallowing thickly. "She must be . . . she must be so frightened."_

_"You must make the child known to me. What does she look like? Of what age is she?"_

_The villagers stumbled over themselves to answer. A pale, fair child. Of eight summers or so. Gray-eyed. Gentle._

_"And her name?"_

_Nanna, several voices answered him. She is called Nanna._

_A presence at Frigga's side: she looked up into Loki's quizzical face, and she realized, with a start, that this was the first she had seen of him since they'd entered the village._

_"Where have you been, all this while?" she asked quietly._

_"Searching the perimeter," he answered. His eyes were on Thor, and the press of people around him. "I discovered the attackers' tracks. And these."_

_He lifted a hand; several long, coarse strands of hair lay pale against his dark glove._

_Frigga sighed. "Demon-guards," she murmured._

_"Yes." He twisted his wrist, and watched as the pale threads drifted away on the breeze, merging with the tendrils of smoke in the air._

_"And you will accompany your brother? In pursuit of them?"_

_Loki's lips thinned. He spread both hands outward, toward the villagers. "But am I really so necessary, Mother? These people clearly believe that Thor can take this quest solely into his own hands."_

_Frigga smiled. "Yes, they do." She glanced up at him. "But you know better."_

_A quirk bent his lips, an ironic grimace, as he looked away._

_"Loki."_

_He turned back, brow raised at the somber darkness in her tone._

_"These Nornheimir were very careful to avoid the shedding of Asgardian blood," she said. "You and Thor must attempt to spare their lives as well, if you can."_

_A second brow lifted, to join the first in unvoiced skepticism._

_"These are the demands of . . . diplomacy, between Realms," she said._

_"I see. So, we must steal back the stolen child, secretly, swiftly, and bloodlessly?"_

_"Yes."_

_"A simple, trifling task, then."_

_She laughed. "Oh, yes." Then her face sobered as she continued, "But if anyone is capable of such trifles it is you, my son. You and your brother."_

* * *

Like a spent arrow, the falcon's cry ricocheted against the Keep's walls. While the three guards absorbed their slack-jawed surprise at finding two strangers so far off the common path, Loki angled a wry glance at Thor, and said, "Our mother did request, however, that we keep the slaughter to a minimum. Diplomacy, if you will remember?"

Thor eased away from him, stepping lightly, his eyes on the approaching guards. "Honoring that request at this time in this place will be a bit of a puzzle."

The three horsemen were reining their mounts to a stop, leaning forward in their saddles, pushing cloaks aside to reach for weapons. Thor lifted his blade, adjusting his grip on the hilt with seasoned expertise; the lead guard exchanged a look with one of the others.

"I rather like puzzles," Loki said.

He slid the other way, smiling benevolently upon the guards, and watching with some amusement as their heads swiveled back and forth in an effort to keep both he and his brother in view.

He heard Thor's low chuckle.

"You _are_ a puzzle," his brother murmured, at the furthest edge of hearing, and Loki's smile stretched into a grin.

"You! Halt! Stop there!" one of the guards barked toward Thor. "Who are you? Peasants? Traders . . .?"

His eyes were fastened on Thor's sword, his brow lowering.

"No. And no," Loki answered.

The guard's eyes flickered toward him, and then back to Thor. "Who, then? What do you do here?"

Once more, high overhead, a harsh call lanced the air. Loki gestured upward.

"We are travelers, merely . . . and we've been, shall we say, befriending the local wildlife?"

All three faces turned to Loki. The one who'd spoken eyed him dubiously, his neck thrust forward, deep lines creasing the corners of his eyes as he frowned. "You've been what?"

And then a sleek projectile plummeted from the sky: the falcon, wings pulled in tightly to its body, its cry silenced as it dove. Like a thrown spear it plunged toward the lead guard; his eyes bulged, and he threw up his hands to protect his face, letting fall the reins. His horse shied violently to one side, and he rocked in the saddle.

In that instant, Thor struck. As the guard struggled to keep his seat, his foot thrown from his stirrup by the horse's frightened jump, Thor seized him about his middle and dragged him to the ground, and, lifting a massive fist, leveled him with one blow to the jaw.

The two remaining guards were still staring up at the soaring falcon. Loki ran forward and grasped the bridle of the second horse; its rider's eyes fell on him with a startled jerk of his neck, and then he spat out a muffled oath, and yanked roughly back on the reins. The horse lifted its hooves, gathering itself to rear up and strike out, in the time-honored tradition of the well-trained warhorse. Its large black eye met Loki's.

"Easy now, _hestr," _he murmured.

The eye shifted and the upward rear was abruptly aborted into a short, stiff-legged hop. Loki tightened his grip on the bridle, and swung the horse around. The third guard was struggling to untangle his bow from his saddlebags, and then frantically notching an arrow; he looked up to find his target vanished behind the horse's bulk. He whipped around, scanning for Thor instead, and heard a sharp twang as a sword blade swooped up and sliced through his bowstring. The arrow dropped uselessly to the ground; he threw the bow down after it and hauled desperately on the reins, all his attention fixed on the grim gleam in Thor's eyes, his hand scrabbling to draw his sword from the scabbard fastened to his saddle.

The second guard leaned to the side, in the meanwhile, tossing his sword from his right hand to his left, the better to aim a vicious swing at Loki's neck. Loki threw himself back, his hold on the bridle preventing an outright fall; the sword hummed through the air above his head. Before his foe could re-gather himself for another strike, he seized the stirrup, jerked it forward, grabbed the man's ankle as his foot lost its grip, and heaved him up and backwards out of the saddle. He struck the ground in a metallic crash of armor.

The falcon's cry sounded again; Loki's head snapped back, his eyes searching until he found the bird circling, ever lower. He loosed his hold on the bridle, flexing his hand against the deep grooves the leather had carved into his palm, and then smacked a hand against the horse's haunch. With a startled whinny, the animal leaped into a gallop and fled from the Keep, toward the distant foothills. The first guard's horse followed, legs churning; their hoofbeats echoed loudly off the towering stone walls.

Too loudly. Loki allowed himself a fleeting scowl.

The fallen guard pulled himself to his feet; he'd kept his grip on his sword, somehow, and now he lunged forward. Loki spun away, and as he did, he heard the whisper of the wind through soft feathers. The falcon swept by, just overhead.

The swordsman circled him, his brow beneath his helmet's brim slicked with sweat, his eyes glittering as he sought for an opening. Over the man's shoulder, Loki glimpsed his brother gathering himself to renew his attack on the third guard, who was wheeling his horse, seeking space and ground to draw and swing his sword.

"Thor!" Loki hissed.

He raised his hand, palm open, and conjured a heavy-hilted dagger into it. The guard's eyes flared, for an instant all his thought riveted to this new threat. Loki lifted a booted foot and kicked him in the midriff; he felt the armor give, heard the expulsive gasp as the air left the man's lungs and he staggered backward toward his brother. Thor had shifted his feet, cocking his fist back once again; his eyes widened as he saw the guard come stumbling toward him. He caught him and wrapped a forearm around the man's neck.

"His helmet," Loki barked; Thor reached up and ripped it off. Loki flipped the dagger and caught it by the blade, paused to sight along it for the barest moment, and then let it fly. It tumbled end for end, flashing past Thor's startled face; its weighted hilt struck the man's temple with a dull thud. His eyes rolled white.

Thor dropped his limp body. "Loki!"

"What?"

Thor flicked his fingers up toward his own face, both brows lifted meaningfully.

Loki raised his chin. "Have a little faith, brother. When do I ever miss?"

A shadow passed over him, accompanied by the click of a beak, and a warbling chirp. Loki looked up, and extended his hand. The falcon tilted its wings, adjusting the angle of its downward glide, and dropped something that had been clutched tightly in one talon: a small object, greenish-brown. It smacked into Loki's palm, and he thrust it quickly into his belt. The falcon flapped its wings, once, twice, and glided away.

Loki lowered his gaze to contemplate the sole remaining guard; Thor had already spun to face him.

He was staring at them, a rapid sequence of reaction flickering over his face: _I am alone; I am alone facing two warriors; I am alone facing two terrifyingly competent warriors . . ._

He heaved the reins taut, knuckles suddenly white; his heels shifted to kick his mount into a prudent retreat. Loki leaped, conjuring as he moved, a blade flashed, and the man found himself lurching abruptly backward, the limp ends of cut reins dangling from his hands. He flailed, and regained his balance only to find the flat of a sword's blade tucked under his chin, the razor-sharp edge caressing his throat. He swallowed, and froze. Slowly, his eyes swiveled downward to Thor's face.

"Be silent, or face my fist," Thor growled.

From his position at the horse's head, Loki murmured, "Well, that's not much of a puzzle, is it?"

Without moving his eyes, Thor answered, "Some things are only as difficult as you make them, brother."

He reached up, grasped the breastplate of the guard's armor and dragged him down from the saddle, the sword never wavering from its position at his neck.

Loki walked over to the second guard; he lay in a boneless heap, a large knot swelling blue-purple on his temple. He didn't stir as Loki prodded him with a toe.

"Does he breathe?" Thor asked.

"I think so, for now." Loki glanced at him, his eyes grimly humorous. "We are nothing if not obedient sons."

"What about the other one?"

"You would know better than I. How hard did you strike him?"

Thor shrugged. "He lives. Probably."

The jest in Loki's eyes faded at he studied the guard in Thor's grip.

"What shall we do with that one?" Loki asked.

Thor shifted his grasp, bringing the man's face up to eye level. "I would think that this fellow knows the lay of the Keep."

"And of course he'd be more than willing to share such minor information."

"Perhaps he could be persuaded."

Loki tilted his head. "Perhaps. He doesn't look very eager to please."

"He will be when he has considered the alternatives."

"Ah, yes." Loki stepped closer, and smiled wickedly into the guard's blazing eyes. "As you see, my friend, my brother wishes to spare you an uncomfortable fate. You will repay his charity by telling us what we need to know."

The guard's lips tightened; his throat swelled with defiance.

"No, no, no." Loki murmured. "None of that. Accommodate our small requests, if you please, or we shall be forced to . . . dispense with your services." He flicked his finger against the blade of Thor's sword, an audible, ominous clink. "If you take my meaning."

"Answer our questions, or join your friends on the ground," Thor added.

"My brother is always a model of brevity," Loki said. "Your choice, warrior."

The man's face crumpled in an agony of rage and uncertainty. Thor turned the sword, just enough to make its presence against the guard's neck an overwhelmingly compelling reality. The guard's eyes widened, the skin around his eyes turning a sickly pale. Slowly, he nodded.

"Excellent. An ally." Loki raised his fist, which contained, in addition to a dagger, the cut ends of the reins. "But, since I still sense a certain lack of enthusiasm in your bearing, I'm afraid you'll have to go bound."

He handed the leather to Thor, and then, as his brother busied himself binding their captive's wrists, he slipped his fingers into his belt and retrieved the falcon's gift.

Thor glanced at him. Memory stirred, and he tipped his head back, his eyes finding the lazily-circling speck high overhead. "What did it bring you?" he asked.

"A key to the Keep," Loki answered. He opened his closed fist to reveal, resting on his palm, a slim, brown oval. A droplet of sticky sap clung to its broken stem; the faint scent of pine colored the air.

Thor eyed it for a moment, expressionless. Finally he said, flatly, "A seed cone."

"Yes. From a white pine, in fact."

"And this will open the wall for us. Quietly."

"Oh, yes."

"And quickly. Before another troop of guards chooses to patrol this obscure corner of the Keep."

"Quickly enough."

Loki could see the questions, building up behind Thor's lips like water behind a dam, and he was mildly disappointed when Thor swallowed them, with obvious effort, and said, merely, "As you say, brother. You'd best see to it."

Thor cocked a thumb toward the guards on the ground.

"I will deal with these." He leveled a cheerful grin at their bound captive, "And with this one, too."

The meeting of the two walls had formed a sort of buttressed corner, and in this meager shelter, the straggling bushes and twisted trees had managed to attain a considerable height. Loki pushed through the tangled branches, studying the huge stones that made up the wall. He chose one, about waist high, and laid his hands on it, palms flat.

Thor shuffled past, backward, dragging the fallen guards, each by one ankle. He regarded the stone briefly, met Loki's eyes, and grunted, "Attacking the portcullis is still an option."

Loki ignored him.

He brushed away the debris of a hundred summer dust-storms, and, hefting the dagger, chipped at the mortar sealing this stone to all the others, until he'd excavated a small, deep hole. Carefully, then, he inserted the seed cone, and cupped his hand over it.

White pines, he mused. Ugly trees, some said, stunted by cold or heat, twisted by constant wind, clothing the high summits or clinging to dry canyon walls, where other trees would never seek to take root. He'd been surprised that the falcon had found one so quickly, but then, Nornheim was the very definition of an inhospitable environment. To the white pine, it was, no doubt, a paradise, for the white pine grew where there was little soil, thrusting its branching roots down into the mountains' barren skulls; a tree that proved beyond doubt the truth that living wood is stronger than earth, or ice, or clay. Stronger, in fact, than stone.

Behind him, he could hear Thor piling brush over the supine bodies of the guards. He smiled to himself; when those two awakened, there would be, he was certain, quite a long period of extremely-confused thrashing about. He hoped Thor had remembered to gag them.

Then he sunk his awareness deep inside, seeking the well of power, the dark energy for which "magic" was too simple a term. And the key to unlocking that power was to shape and direct, never to constrain or dictate. To call it up in a surging wave, and channel its wild, unfettered currents down a riverbed of his own making.

So.

He filled his hands with power, gathering it into a glowing mass; his head fell back, his eyes hooded as they focused unseeing upon his own fingers. With an audible sigh he released it through his fingertips.

Under his hand, the cone's tightly-closed scales burst open, emitting a hiss like steam from a broken pipe. At once a green root emerged, coiling around his wrist; his eyes snapped open and he stepped back quickly, swallowing an oath. The roots spread out, already turning woody and brown, as a central trunk hove upward, sprouting thin branches and bunches of needles fragrant and gray-green. Some of the roots curled downward, blindly seeking the earth, but more of them followed the lines of the mortar around the stone, and it crumbled before their probing tips, falling in chunks to the ground.

The trunk grew more broad, twisting outward from the tree's tenuous grasp on the wall, seeking the sky's weak gray light; the prying roots filled the spaces around the stone, writhing and thickening. There was a sharp, ear-ringing snap, like a crack of lightning, and the stone split in two. One half sagged halfway out of the wall, its fall prevented only by the net of roots that held it fast.

Thor appeared, one hand wrapped around the upper arm of their captive, who was staring at the spreading crown of the tree, eyes wide and startled over the strip of cloth stopping his mouth.

"That wasn't entirely silent, you know," Thor said.

Loki rolled his eyes skyward. "My apologies. But, you must admit it was nonetheless more stealthy than a scream-and-leap offense upon the front gate." He reached into widening cracks, and began to hew at the roots with his dagger. The sagging half of the stone fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

Thor pushed the guard forward, and leaned him like an abandoned broom against the wall. "Don't move," he growled.

Then he strode forward, and wrapped his hands around the stone's remaining half. Shoulders straining, lips curled back, he pulled, bracing one foot against the wall. One of the questing root tips traced its way along the heel of his boot, and tentatively curled around his ankle.

The stone groaned and creaked, and, finally, with another echoing snap, cracked askew into several more pieces. Thor tossed them aside and pulled out fistfuls of the twining, squirming roots. Then he thrust his shoulders forward into the gaping hole that remained.

"Curse it all, Loki!"

"What is it?"

"You've opened the wall into some sort of bathhouse."

After a short silence, Loki said, "I take it from the absence of alarmed shouting that it's currently unoccupied."

"Fortunately!"

Thor pulled himself free of the opening, grimacing.

"It's the backside of the Keep, and a windowless wall," Loki said, a trifle defensively. "I assumed it would be a storeroom."

"And if someone had been inside, enjoying a peaceful soak?"

Loki shrugged. "You would have dealt with it in your usual charming and forthright manner. Let's go, Thor, quickly, before someone else appears on _either _side of this wall."

Thor stepped forward, gesturing toward the captive guard. "We'll put this fellow through first . . ."

He stumbled headlong, falling heavily to one knee.

"Ymir's bones!"

He looked behind, to find his boot held fast in the grasp of a rapidly-swelling tree root. With a muttered oath, he leaned forward, thigh straining, and pulled his foot free of his boot. He clambered upright, and glared at Loki, who palmed the grin off his face. Behind him, the boot's leather shaft creaked as the root curled greedily around it.

"Loki . . . " Thor's voice drawled out the name in two long syllables.

Loki arranged his features into a thoughtful expression.

"I've always observed that you somehow find friendship wherever you venture in the Realms, brother, even among the flora and fauna. It's a gift, truly. Treasure it."

"Loki, it is a fate dishonorable enough that I must storm this Keep through a bathhouse. I will not do it bootless as well."

Loki slipped his dagger out of his belt, and presented it with a flourish, over his forearm. "I don't believe that what we're doing here can rightly be termed 'storming'."

Thor sighed, and took the dagger. "Exactly."

But as he watched Thor hack the root away and pry his boot free, murmuring vile oaths all the while, the glimmer of laughter slowly drained from Loki's eyes.

_Is it truly so dishonorable to you, brother, to conquer through stealth and strategy? Can you find no glory in this sort of battle?_

His mouth twisted humorlessly.

_And why do you ask such questions, Loki, son of Odin? Do you not know the answers? That's why you're here . . ._

A bitter taste lingered at the back of his throat. Loki waited as his brother and the captive guard disappeared into the dark opening, and then, swallowing it down into the pit of his belly, he followed them through the wall of the Nornkeep.

* * *

_Frigga tapped a slim finger against her chin, while Loki repacked their provisions in the saddlebags, and Thor checked the horses' gear._

_"Little of this makes any sense," she said, slowly._

_Thor dropped the stirrup he was adjusting. "I agree. Why should Loki and I go alone, when we have three strong sword-arms ready to hand?" He pointed with his chin; a short distance away, Fandral and Hogun were re-saddling their own mounts. The Lady Sif was buckling her scabbard down._

_"That was not my meaning, dear one," Frigga spoke gently, but there was no mistaking the firm iron underlying her soft voice. "I was speaking of this attack itself. So carefully orchestrated. And yet so rash. It isn't like her. The Norn Queen has ever been impulsive, but never foolish."_

_"You speak as if you know her," Thor said._

_"I do. I know her of old."_

_Frigga saw the puzzled glance passed between her sons, but she said nothing further. Her dealings with the Norn Queen were a history best left veiled._

_Instead she said, "Why would she risk Odin's wrath, after respecting the borderlands all of these years? And for what? An Asgardian child?"_

_Loki frowned, looking over at her as his fingers deftly laced up the final saddlebag. "That's true. Why would anyone seek to take a child who belonged to another people?"_

_Frigga's whole body stilled. She felt her face stiffen, her shoulders tighten, as Loki's words clanged discordantly through her mind and memory, rousing a host of sleeping images: a child, an infant, wrapped in Odin's cloak, his tiny fist reaching up to fasten on her outstretched finger; the solid weight of him as Odin laid him in her arms, Odin's face, his words, that day . . ._

Why would anyone take a child who belonged to another people?

_"There was a reason," she heard her own voice declaring, thin and stretched. She cleared her throat. "There is always a reason. For an action like that."_

_Two pair of eyes studied her, green and blue, and equally troubled._

_"What is it, Mother?" Loki asked._

_"There is always a reason," she repeated; she gazed into the green eyes and saw, not her son's sharply sculpted features, but the soft curves of an infant's face._

_She shook her head, banishing the vision. "I will seek into the past. And I will lay bare her purposes. And then I will know why she took this child."_


	3. Chapter 3

**_Veil of Smoke_**

**_Part 3/6_**

_Thor leaped into the saddle, whirled his horse in a sudden cyclone of creaking leather and churning legs, and spurred him off down the road, hooves flashing._

_Loki watched him, for a moment, and angled a wry smile at Frigga as he gathered his own reins. "To Nornheim, then."_

_Frigga studied him, eyes intent. Softly she said, "You are uneasy, Loki."_

_A silence. Loki looked down at his hands, and said, "Scrying the past is dangerous, Mother."_

_"It is, yes."_

_She stepped forward and touched his arm. When he lifted his eyes, she continued, "And so also is infiltrating a hostile keep with only your brother by your side."_

_He nodded, and reached over to cover her hand with his. Then he turned and swung into the saddle, tightening the reins._

_"Loki."_

_Her voice was so low that he almost missed it. He reined the horse about._

_"Your brother's courage knows no bounds."_

_She said nothing more, for a moment, and he sat, puzzled, a faint frown crumpling his brow. But then, he said, slowly, "And you think perhaps that it should?"_

_"I think that, in a quest such as this one, courage must be tempered with caution."_

_"Ah. And I am the one to supply the voice of reason, am I?"_

_"You are."_

_Loki looked away. "I am always pleased to be of some use, Mother."_

_She reached forward, grasped the horse's bridle, and stood, her hand upon the stallion's silky neck. Her face was troubled. "Loki, I do not cast aspersion on your own courage. It is merely your tactics and discretion that will, I suspect, be much in demand."_

_He looked down at her, his eyes searching her face, and finding only truth there. His jaw relaxed as his lips stretched into an ironic smile. "I'll do my best."_

_"I know you will. As will your brother. And I."_

_His face sobered. "Be careful, Mother," he said._

_"You also, my son."_

_He wheeled his mount; in less than a breath he was gone, a cloud of dust and hoofbeats in pursuit of his brother._

* * *

The Armory of the Nornkeep was a dark, shuttered chamber, simultaneously cavernous and oppressive. Its ceiling was low, and crudely braced with large flat beams that suggested rock rather than wood. The stone walls glistened with the faint sheen of incipient damp, and the air was still, and thick with the odor of sweat-soaked leather and oiled metal. Intermittent torches, secured to the walls with heavy iron staples, furnished the perpetual dusk with a flickering, inconstant illumination; no windows admitted any of Nornheim's weak sunlight.

Racks and racks of armor lined the walls, fronted by chests overflowing with woolen cloaks and leather gloves and belted scabbards. Small antechambers, more shadowed still, housed shelves and cases piled with daggers, swords, bows and spearheads. All of it, leather, wool and metal: humble elements fashioned into the accouterments of violence.

At a small table lit by a glowing, circular lantern, a captain of the Nornheim guard sat frowning, a leather-covered ledger open before him. The thin pen rested comfortably enough in his stained fingers, but he jabbed it impatiently into the inkstand, and the scowl on his face proffered no comfort at all with the scribbled rows of names and figures on the page before him: disciplinary actions, troop formations, duty rosters. The business of administering a standing guard. After a moment, muttering softly, he began to cross out certain of the names, and, after much scowling deliberation, substitute others.

A step out in the corridor caught his attention, and, with an ill-concealed expression of relief at the interruption, he looked up just as knuckles rapped against the door.

"Come," he barked, a little louder than necessary. He was a man who relished the power of command.

He busied himself with the ledger, allowing his visitor to enter and wait stiffly for a few long moments, and then, having made his own importance clear, he raised his head to favor the guard standing there with an imperious stare.

Or rather, the guards. One slightly behind the other, a dark-haired, sharp-faced one regarding him with a detached frankness that bordered on insubordinate.

He speared that one with a glare, and then turned his attention to the one in front, and frowned.

"Brandr," he said. "Were you not sent out to the northern frontier?"

There was a pause. Then the guard Brandr shifted his feet awkwardly and murmured, "Yes, sir, I was."

"Well, what do you here, then? Answer me." He shifted his glare to the one behind, and his scowl deepened. There was something very wrong with that one. There was not nearly enough submission in his eyes.

The captain stood, and walked around the table. Both guards swung to face him with commendable alacrity; the dark one laid a hand on Brandr's elbow to tug him backward several steps. The captain folded his arms.

"Well?" he asked. He fixed his gaze on Brandr, but his eyes were drawn inexorably to the slight smile pulling upon the other guard's lips, and the arrogant set of his shoulders. The captain held up a hand when Brandr finally opened his mouth to respond, and thrust his chin forward, toward the other, glowering. "You, you answer me. I've never seen you before. Are you newly entered the guard? What is your name?"

The strange guard tilted his chin, and the amusement in his eyes deepened.

"I am called by many names," he answered, and then, against all protocol, he grinned. Cheekily.

The captain's throat swelled with anger. "And what name shall I use for you when I throw you into the lower cells, two days on no provisions for such insolence? Make no mistake, I shall!"

The sharp one bent toward him, eyes gleaming, and, against his own will the captain found himself leaning forward as well.

"I don't make mistakes, by long practice," the guard murmured. "But you have."

"What?" The captain's furious bellow echoed off the walls. He reached out to seize this impudent guard by his breastplate, but then, in the space of an instant, his eyes followed the lines of the fellow's arm, and he saw the glittering blade of a dagger pressed with expert precision against the small of Brandr's back, right into the joints of his armor.

Shocked, the captain's eyes lifted to meet the sharp one's raised brow, as the amused voice murmured, "You turned your back on the door."

The captain was already spinning about when he heard the voice add, friendly and warm, "And you may call me. . . a distraction."

And then all that the captain saw was a flash of golden hair, and huge shoulders, and a massive fist, aimed right between his eyes.

Loki shoved Brandr back, out of the way, and caught the captain's falling body, easing it with careful silence to the floor. Thor strode quickly to the Armory's door, slammed it shut, and dropped the bar into its brackets.

Rubbing the knuckles of his fist, he remarked, "I wonder if there will ever come a day when that does not work."

Loki grinned, "I don't understand why it always does. Truly people only see what is before their very eyes, and yet they see nothing."

He pointed to one of the nearby chests, filled to the brim with leather bindings. Thor scooped up a set, and crouched at the fallen captain's ankles. Loki stood, and turned back to their captive, a faint golden glow shimmering around his body as the Nornheimir armor he had seemed to be wearing disappeared, and he stood again in his own black leather.

He crossed his arms, leaning back on one heel, eyes frankly assessing.

"This one has proved useful, Thor, but how long do we really intend to drag him along behind us?'

Thor grunted, pulling tight another knot. "He has more to tell us."

Brandr was staring down at the captain's slowly bruising face.

"He saw me with you," he muttered.

Loki chuckled; his eyes sharpened as they studied the guard's face. "So he did. Shades of treason, yes? But worry not-he also saw my dagger threatening your liver."

This meager assurance did nothing to ease the doubt settling into deep grooves around Brandr's mouth. Thor looked up at him, as he tightened a leather strip about the captain's wrists. "Well, don't comfort yourself with the thought that death will erase his memory. We will not kill him for your sake."

"Oh, no, indeed," Loki murmured. "We promised our mother."

Brandr looked up, sneering, "Your mother? You can take your mother and . . . "

And suddenly he found himself facing the point of Loki's dagger, and Thor's huge hand around his windpipe.

"Have a care," Thor said, low. "how you speak, little man."

"I'd consider your next words carefully," Loki added.

Silence, except for the guard's harshly indrawn breath.

"No disrespect. None," Brandr whispered. His eyes were wide.

"Excellent choice, my friend."

The dagger and hand were removed from the vicinity of his neck, but a cold promise showed in both faces: they could be returned to finish their work, given incentive to do so. Brandr swallowed, a rasp in his dry throat, and clamped his mouth shut.

Thor walked over to the nearest rack and pulled off a jointed breastplate. "Are you certain this is necessary?" He looked back at Loki. "Could you not just . . . ?" He waved one hand over himself.

Loki frowned. "I could. But illusion presents more of a risk than reality."

Thor huffed out a breath. "This entire enterprise is a risk."

"True words, brother, but nevertheless the further we penetrate into this domicile, the less inclined I feel toward using much . . . " He imitated Thor's casual wave.

"Surely the Norn Queen is not so formidable that she can sense the presence of another mage? That isn't possible?"

Loki shrugged, turning his eyes back to Brandr, thoughtfully. The guard was watching them, face impassive. "I don't know what's possible, where she is concerned. I know that she is powerful. And that Mother's face tightened when she spoke of her."

Thor stripped off his gray cloak and slung the breastplate across his chest, reaching for the buckles as he said, "Reality it is, then."

While Loki was shrugging out of his own leather and rummaging about for some Nornheimir armor scaled to fit his more slender frame, Thor finished fastening a pair of stout metal greaves to his shins and then came to stand before Brandr, who was leaning disconsolately against the table.

"Now, then, my friend," he said. "Suppose we discuss the location of the child."

Brandr looked up at him, genuine puzzlement creasing his face. "Child?"

"Aye. Yesterday a band of your Queen's elite demon-guard would have returned from a raid, bearing with them a small, fair child. An Asgardian child."

"Asgardian. . ."

"And somewhere in this Keep that child lies."

The guard lifted his chin, setting his jaw in a show of bravado. "And how should I know anything about that?"

Thor grinned. It was not a friendly grin. "Don't take me for a fool, fellow. All warriors throughout the Realms know the rhythms of their own Keep. You know when something has changed." The grin broadened, fiercely, as he saw the flicker in Brandr's eyes. "Tell me what has changed, here, today, in this Keep of yours."

"Why should I tell you anything? You only intend to kill me anyway. And if you do not. . ." his voice trailed off, and his eyes flashed as he looked away, jaw flexing.

"We will do you no harm, you puny idiot. Have you not heard us both say that we have sworn an oath to limit the blood we shed this day? We are . . ."

"We are civilized men."

From the far corner of the room, Loki came walking, slinging a leather belt about his hips, his eyes fastened on Brandr's face. He lifted a hand, just enough to gain Thor's attention, and made a subtle, cutting motion. Thor's eyes flashed, and he fell silent as Loki continued, "And we do not shed blood. . . unnecessarily." His voice caressed that word so meaningfully that Brandr flinched.

"And we did indeed promise our mother." He pulled the belt tight, and then conjured a dagger into one hand. As he turned it this way and that, studying the light along the blade, he said, cheerfully, "No, no, my friend. If you do not agree to aid us in recovering the child, we will simply. . . leave you here, unharmed." He gestured with the dagger's tip toward one of the antechambers. "We will lock you up, with your friend the captain."

A scowl deepened the lines in Brandr's face. His eyes shifted. "But. . .but the captain has seen me with you . . ."

Loki shrugged; his eyes flickered over the guard's face, intent. "I'm quite certain, if you will just explain rationally, your superiors will be . . . forgiving."

"They will think I've helped you willingly. Or that you bribed me."

Thor's eyes glinted at Loki for a moment. "Surely not." he said. He reached for a scabbard, measured his blade along it, grunted with dissatisfaction, and tossed it aside.

Loki smiled. "You will speak with all sincerity of my brother's fist and my dagger. Of course they will have no choice but to believe you when you say we forced your aid."

Brandr looked away.

"Although," Loki continued, pursing his lips thoughtfully, "I suspect they will wonder how we gained entrance to the Keep."

Brandr's eyes took on the hunted glint of a cornered vixen. Thor picked up another scabbard; for a moment his eyes met Loki's and his jaw moved in what might have been a fiercely-suppressed grin.

Loki shook his heed. "No, no, no. I'm being foolish. Of course you have only to show them the tree, to corroborate your story."

Brandr's head swung around to stare at him. "You concealed the tree. You made it disappear. I saw you do it."

"Oh, a simple glamour, that. It's still there, merely . . . hidden. It will reappear. In time."

"By that time I will be rotting in the dungeons!"

Thor shoved his sword into the scabbard he'd found, and leaned over a chest filled with gloves. He idly drew on a pair. "It would appear you're in a bit of a predicament, then, my friend," he said.

Loki nodded, brows raised. "Our apologies."

He bent and grasped the captain by his shoulders, and began to drag him across the floor toward one of the small antechambers, this one filled with row upon row of spear shafts.

"I'll lock this fellow in the chamber," he said, winking at Brandr over the captain's lolling head. "You can explain it all to him . . . when he awakens."

Thor grinned over his shoulder. "I'm sure he'll be in a listening frame of mind."

Brandr stood straight, his jaw set, his eyes fixed on the livid bruise on the captain's brow.

"If I help you, you must take me with you." His voice burst out, unsteady, loud.

Thor exchanged a glance with Loki. "To Asgard, friend?"

"What means this sudden urge for travel?" Loki murmured.

Brandr took a step toward them, spreading out his hands. "You are warriors of consequence. No common guards, I can see that. And . . . and this child, this child must be of great importance, lest why should you take such trouble? If I aid you in rescuing her, you must take me with you. And perhaps I will gain some reward in Asgard."

Thor rumbled, "Reward? Let me tell you of the reward you might expect. . . "

Loki held up a hand. "Your reward, friend, would be your freedom, to live in Asgard as a refugee of battle. You understand?"

There was a pause, as Brandr searched both their faces. Then slowly, he nodded. "I will fare better there than here, with the suspicion of treason over my head. I will aid you."

He found himself the focus of both pairs of eyes, and neither gaze was easy to bear. He rubbed his hands together, thumbs sliding along sweat-slick palms.

"So be it," Thor said. "Find a helmet to hide your face, then, so that no one else questions why you are here rather than riding out toward the frontier."

But, as the guard turned to search through a shelf of headgear, Thor frowned at Loki; he lifted a fist and twisted it like a key in a lock, a battlefield signal.

*_Safe?_* He pointed at Brandr's back.

Loki shook his head, emphatically. He touched a finger to the corner of his own eye, and then out toward the guard.

*_I will watch him_.*

Thor nodded, and tapped his own chest.

*_As will I._*

The corner of Loki's mouth tipped upward as he moved his hand across his chest, the fingers weaving in a peculiar scuttling motion, like a startled hare flushed from the safety of the bramble.

Thor grinned; it was the oldest of their voiceless signals, a gesture buried so deeply in the strata of their shared boyhood that he could no longer remember its genesis. But since that first day it had always borne the same meaning:

*_The prey is running; the game is begun._*

* * *

The Keep's bailey was anchored at its corners by the soaring outer towers; here, in the inner courtyard, a dusty expanse of gray soil was crisscrossed by well-pounded paths, and the daily business of the castle bustled purposefully or meandered lazily: a cart piled with vegetables and pulled by two kitchen boys; a troop of guards, formally at arms, marching toward the front gate to relieve the watch there; a less-disciplined troop of snowy geese, driven forward by a sour-faced servant girl with much milling about and honking protests.

And, in a partially-hidden alcove tucked under the hulking buttress of one of the towers: three guards of Nornheim, gathered together in a casual pose that might have struck an observer, if anyone had thought to observe, as a trifle too studied.

Thor pushed impatiently at his borrowed helmet, which was just the smallest fraction too big. Loki shifted the dagger in his belt and said, "And now, after ducking and scrambling the length of the Keep, we've reached the bailey. Perhaps you'd be so kind as to tell us why we're here."

Brandr pointed, a quick flick of his finger toward the wall opposite, where an arched gateway pierced the featureless expanse of gray stone. The gates were wrought of some glimmering silver metal, and the arch was overhung with a delicate, branching, green and purple vine: a spot of quiet beauty in the midst of the courtyard's bland, dust-shrouded efficiency.

Loki raised a brow. "A walled garden?"

Brandr shrugged. "Always before that gate has been kept open. It's the Queen's Garden; none would dare to enter who did not belong. I've never seen the gate closed. Until today."

Loki hummed, quietly in his throat, and darted a glance at Thor, who nodded.

"So. A change in the Keep's routine." Thor leaned out a little further, studying it.

Brandr looked away. "It's the only change I've noticed."

Loki's eyes swept the wall and back to the gate. "Is there a structure, in there? Some sort of outbuilding?"

"The gardener's cottage. It lies in a grove of bowered oak, against the back wall."

"A cottage, in a garden . . . " Loki looked over at Thor. "You are a sly and clever queen. . . "

Thor crossed his arms, lifting both brows. "Am I?"

"It takes a stretch of the imagination, I'll grant you."

Thor grinned. "All right, then. I am a clever queen."

". . . and you wish to calm a terrified village child . . . "

Thor's face sobered. "So I would put that child in a place that reminded her of her home."

Loki nodded; all three of them turned to eye the silver gate speculatively, and the little slice of quiet garden visible through its bars, and then the bailey filled with people going about their business, and the knots of guards, here and there.

Thor said, low-voiced, "Perhaps there is a back way." He slanted a slightly sheepish glance at Loki, who'd turned to him with exaggerated surprise.

"Can this be? A brother of mine who wishes to pursue the stealthy route?"

Thor chuckled. "Surely you have heard stranger tales than that, brother."

"Have I?"

A grimace creased Brandr's face. "I'm pleased that you find all this amusing, my lords. I only hope you will still find it so when the sun sets and the guard . . . changes."

Thor turned to him, sharply. "The demon-guard. They patrol at night?"

"Aye. Little do they like the sun, gray though it may shine here in Nornheim."

Loki's head tipped back: already the wan light was fading, the sky shading toward the sallow flush of pinched skin.

He said, slowly, "I feel a sudden urge to hurry this right along. Before the demons choose to grace this courtyard with their presence."

Thor adjusted the angle of the scabbard at his side. "And before the various ones that we have rendered senseless regain their wits. They will not remain hidden forever, no matter how tightly bound and cleverly hidden."

He pointed toward the gate with his chin. He said nothing further, but his eyes rested expectantly on Loki's face, and after a moment, Brandr, too, looked to him. Loki's mouth slanted into a half-smile, and then, with an ironic little bow, he turned again to study the movements of the guards. There was a pattern, he realized after a few long moments. Shifting steps and sidelong glances that seemed aimless and random nevertheless resulted in ever-larger clusters, as more and more of the guards huddled together. Two of them had crouched over a large brazen kettle, and kindled a roaring fire beneath it, and now they'd attracted a growing group of their fellows. As the twilit air cooled, they held out their hands to the fire, or dipped up a steaming cup of the liquid boiling in the kettle: cider, Loki thought. The faintly stirring breeze carried with it now the sweet scent of apples and spice.

It should have been a convivial scene, but the guards faces were careful and their voices muted. One glanced over his shoulder, quickly, shamefacedly, and then laughed too heartily, and re-dipped his cup.

Opposite the main gate lay a large archway, with a downward-leading passage wholly dark. And from this black mouth several figures emerged, tall and broad and oddly stooped, with a strange shuffling gait as if the knees and hips were attached askew, or like dogs walking unnaturally upon their hind legs. They stood, just inside the line of the archway's shadow, their hands tucked up into the sleeves of their hooded robes, and surveyed the courtyard with a heavy stillness that seemed to pull at every light and sound within the bailey. Loki noticed, when one turned his head, a gleam of light catch on something that might have been a tooth in a long, misshapen jaw.

The demon-guards of Nornheim.

As three more eased out of their passage to join the first, Loki said, without taking his eyes from them, "Tell me."

Brandr stirred, his uneasiness revealing itself in the formless movements of his hands; his tongue slipped out to licksuddenly-dry lips. After a moment, he said, in a whisper, "They are immensely strong; I have seen one alone toss aside a horse and its rider in the midst of battle. They see in the dark as well as a man may see in the day. And they fight as one."

Thor frowned, "Always together, you mean?"

"Yes. But more than that. They seem to . . . live in one another's minds. They move as one."

Finding both Thor and Loki's eyes upon him, he continued, spreading his hands helplessly, "Like a school of fish. Or . . . or a flock of swallows."

"Or a pack of wolves." Thor's hand curled into a fist, and he tapped it thoughtfully against his chin, mouth grim.

Brandr looked at him, "My lord?"

Loki smiled. "Pay no mind to my brother. He is merely replacing your charmingly pastoral images with one more fittingly martial."

"It is fitting. They are like wolves, in battle." Brandr's mouth tightened.

Loki quirked a brow at him. "And yet they are your comrades, are they not? Fellow Nornheimir?"

"They have no loyalty to Nornheim or to the Keep. Only to each other. I do not know how the Queen commands their service."

"Now that's very interesting, friend. That's just the sort of military detail that Odin Allfather will no doubt be very keen to hear from your lips, when you seek asylum in Asgard."

Brandr scowled; his only response was a low, wordless grunt.

Loki turned back to his contemplation of the black-cowled figures, swallowing the grin that Brandr's ill-humor provoked.

"So, " he said, musingly. "They see in the dark of night; and they move as one." He nodded. "That makes it simple, then."

Thor let out a skeptical breath. "Does it?"

"Oh, yes," Loki's eyes glittered at him in the gathering dusk. "It means that we must give them something to see, and a foe to move against. It means, my eager brother, that we must storm the gate."

* * *

_The past is a quiet pool hidden in a vaulted cavern. Neither hot nor cold, the clear transparency of its water is a lure, a seduction, so much more inviting than the future, with its fractals, its flashing, jarring images. But just as deadly, for the unwary traveler._

_On the brink of the pool, a queen lingers._

_She gazes into it, breast rising with each deep breath. In her mind's eye, she envisions the lifeline of the present, and she grasps it with both hands, and wraps it around her fists._

_Keep your grip, Frigga, she tells herself. Don't lose hold._

_She slides one foot into the pool, and hesitates, closing her eyes, squaring her shoulders; then forward, stepping lightly, she strides into the past until the clear water closes over her fair head, and she is gone._


	4. Chapter 4

**_Veil of Smoke _**

**_Part 4/6_**

_There is a danger in scrying the past, and it is this: the past pulls upon the seer, luring her ever deeper with promises of clearer vision, with the hope of understanding events that have seemed unknowable, and with the low-voiced seduction of reliving joys that have receded into the dusk of days gone by. _

_But Frigga Queen of Asgard is no simple-minded dilettante, sailing a dangerous current merely for the thrill it sends down the spine. She makes her way carefully, stepping softly, and with every breath she takes, she reminds herself: here are my hands folded in my lap, in the present. Here is the grass, beneath my feet, in the present. Here is the softly-filled breath, the stifled cough: Lady Sif, as she watches over me, in the present. I am present: the past is illusion._

_Around her, in her mind's eye, the past displays its pictures: static and still, all of them, suspended in the matrix of crystallized time. She wanders among them, with the past all around her like clear water, resolutely ignoring the lures that it offers: Thor's childish face, laughing in delight over some new plaything; Odin, tall and straight and brown, helmet tucked awkwardly under one arm, bowing over her hand; Loki . . . Loki staring in amazement as he conjures a flame onto his small palm for the first time. She turns her eyes from them, following instead the slight pull on her mind as she searches for one among the crowd peopling her past, until at last she stops before a hazy image of a beautiful, ageless face: the Queen of the Norns._

_"Ah," she says, and her voice is sad. "Hello, old friend."_

_She stretches out her hands, and walks forward, swiftly, and the image ripples and flows, and engulfs her._

_Now she sees an opulent bedchamber; the Norn Queen sits before a mirror, turning her head this way and that. She might be studying her own reflection, but for the fact that her eyes are fixed, a shrewd and measuring gaze, upon the tall, cowled figure who stands in the center of the room. _

_"You've done well, though it took you long enough." she says. She raises a brow. "You were not pursued?"_

_The demon's voice grates, as its crooked fingers gesture toward a huddled, forlorn figure crumpled in a chair on the far side of the room, knees drawn up, gray eyes staring above a pale, trembling chin. "Who would dare pursue?"_

_"True. Although it was always a possibility."_

_Silence, and then the demon rasps, "What purpose?"_

_Both brows rise, slightly mocking. "You inquire into my motives?"_

_The demon hardens its stance. "What purpose?" it repeats._

_The queen shrugs, and waves a dismissive hand. "I have looked into the future, and I have seen that this child, in some way, interferes with my future happiness."_

_"Easier, then, to slay?"_

_"Oh, perhaps. But then I considered, instead, that I would take her for my own. For what a jest! What a triumph to rear the child of the enemy, and turn her into a weapon under my own hand."_

_Frigga's heart drops, a sickening swoop. 'A weapon under my own hand . . .'_

_The queen swivels on her bench and stands, with the cold and regal grace that characterizes all her actions. She says, slowly, "The villagers will no doubt make their way to Odin King, in the next day or two."_

_"Reprisals?"_

_Her lips thin. "Perhaps. It is only one village child, of course, and I do not know if Odin will seek open war over such a little thing. But he may send . . . someone. Take your troops, and ride out. Occupy the main passages before the border into Asgard. If someone does come to call. . . dissuade them."_

_The demon emits a long, sighing hiss. "Wait in the passes? How long?"_

_"As long as it pleases me, slave. Do not question me further."_

_The demon bows, a ragged scrap of a bow, and slides silently from the room. Frigga, watching, feels the uneasiness rising in her belly. The Norn Queen could not have known that her crime would be discovered so quickly, that a rescue of the child was already underway. That was all to the good, and yet . . . _

_A sudden vision presses itself upon her: Thor and Loki, the child bundled in their arms, racing back toward Asgard. They would be looking behind, for pursuit from the Keep. They would not expect the passages at the border to be held against them. _

_She steps back from the scene being played out before her. The image of the Norn Queen slows and stiffens to immobility as Frigga retreats, her breath tight in her chest as the past clutches at her with greedy fingers, as it wraps itself around her ankles thick and clinging as cold mud, making each step heavier than the last. Back, back again: the steps maddeningly slow. She focuses all her mind, all her thought upon her hands, in her lap, in the present. _

_In the present, her hands curl into fists . . ._

_And then, with a petulant sputter, the past released her, and she fell forward into the present and found herself looking up into Sif's anxious face, with Sif's strong hands gripping her shoulders._

_"My lady!"_

_She nodded, drawing a deep breath. And then, though the movement felt stiff and strange, she reached up and lay a hand on Sif's forearm._

_"I am well. Thank you, Sif."_

_Dry as dust, her throat, as if she'd run a brutal race. She swallowed, and tried to remember: what was it that she had seen, in the past's watery depths?_

_'. . . what a jest, what a triumph to rear a child of the enemy . . . '_

_She shook her head, clearing the cold voice away, and the memory flooded back: the passes, the border! _

_Something must be done._

_She said, her voice strengthening on each word. "Lady Sif, do you tire of this inactivity?"_

_The warrior maiden leaned back on one heel, head tilted, a quizzical smile tugging at her mouth, "I do, my lady."_

_"As do I. Tell me, my dear. Do you know where Hogun and Fandral might be found, just now?"_

* * *

Is he utterly mad?"

Brandr's hissed whisper fractured the silence like a boot through thin ice; the muscles across the back of Thor's shoulders clenched in irritation. He glanced over at the other man, though he could see nothing but a vague shape, sunk deep in the shadow of the thick windowsill upon which they were crouched, several long spans above the hard-packed ground.

"Steady, man," he muttered in response. "They'll hear."

"They already have. They're choosing to ignore us because we're not actually down there in the courtyard."

Thor grunted, noncommittal; his gaze pivoted back to the pool of darkness that was the Keep's bailey. As they had loitered here, waiting, the gray skies overhead had gradually shaded to deep charcoal and then dusky black. The clouds, invisible now, veiled the brilliant stars and glowing nebulae that would have illuminated the night in a less dreary realm, and the darkness was viscous and heavy, like a rising tide of silt-choked water. The courtyard was drowned in night, and filled with the tall, cloaked figures of the demon-guard.

The cider kettle stood abandoned. The fire underneath had faded to a few glowing coals, their dim light forlorn in the dark bailey. A few stubborn guards had remained for a while, hunched over it, their courage fortified by the flagons of brandy that they'd splashed into the pot, but as another and then another and then another demon had emerged from the sloping archway, their numbers slowly growing, the guards had fled, finally, the last one uttering an oath as he flung down an empty flagon with a loud, defiant crash. The demons had laughed, a sibilant wheeze that had set Thor's skin to crawling as he watched.

Now, below, the demon-guard gathered and re-gathered, in aimless groups, their voices low and hissing, a wordless murmur.

Thor afforded them only the smaller portion of his attention; his eyes were fastened uneasily on the niche under the buttress, where the shadows were black as spilled ink, and where there knelt, unseen, a slim, motionless figure.

Beside him Brandr shifted; Thor could smell the fear on the man as he muttered, once again, "He's mad."

Without turning his head, Thor said, "You have known my brother for nearly the span of an entire day. That is sufficient time to learn that his tricks are never without purpose."

"That's all very well if his purpose is to get himself slaughtered!" Brandr's voice climbed, and then faded again as Thor tapped a warning knuckle against his arm. He whispered, barely audible, "No one ventures into the bailey while the demons occupy it. No one."

Thor answered mildly, "So you said before. But Loki's scheme is the only workable plan we have."

Though his voice was even, nevertheless he felt Brandr's foreboding, creeping over his shoulders, sliding along his scalp, grounding itself in a tightness behind his eyes. He squinted into the darkness, pushing away the irritation. Swallowing the thought that, if they'd executed a direct attack, he and Loki-and the child-would already have been far away and gone from this cursed Keep.

_Why do I always accede to his plans? What if he really does come to harm, down there?_

"They are not stupid, and they have their ways. They're going to sniff him out." Brandr craned his neck; Loki's figure was still buried deep in shadow, unmoving. "And then he'll be forced into using sorcery. And that will attract the Queen's notice."

Thor directed another glinting glance at him. "Is that a hopeful note I hear in your voice, friend?"

Brandr froze, and clamped his lips shut. The warning in that murmur had been unmistakeable.

"I fear your hope will come to naught," Thor continued. "Put it aside. Not all of Loki's tricks involve magic."

He leaned his head back, against the window coping, and added, "And, anyway, I do not fear these demons. There are not so many of them. I count only twenty-seven."

He sensed Brandr's shrug. "Whether there be twenty or ninety, what does it matter? They will kill him just for the amusement of it, the devils. The bailey is theirs alone, at night. All of Nornheim knows it."

"I wonder that your Queen tolerates such barbarity."

"Who can tell? They do her work." Bitterness coated Brandr's words, for a moment. "That's perhaps why there are so few of them out there, tonight. She's sent the rest on some mission."

The skin along Thor's arms prickled. "Some mission, heh?"

But he did not pursue the thought, for, down in the bailey, an agitated shudder rippled through the scattered clusters of the demon-guard. A lone man came striding nonchalantly out of the shadowed niche beneath the buttress.

Loki.

He was uncloaked, so that the faint light from the firepit's coals gleamed dully on his Nornheimir armor, and helmetless; Thor could see the sheen of dark hair, and a momentary gleam of the whites of his eyes as they swept the yard.

One by one the demon-guard gathered, into a single, milling mass on one side of the bailey, every hooded head following Loki's progress. The silence was suddenly breathless and deep, broken only by the creaking of the leather under Loki's armor, and faint rasp of metal on metal in the joints. He walked across the open ground opposite the shadowy flock of demons, with the easy, unconcerned steps of a man strolling beneath the noonday sun. A baleful wheeze emerged, from beneath one hood, a razor-edged sigh that rustled through the entire throng. As their heads turned, Thor could see, even through the shadows over their faces, the glitter of many black eyes, and all of them fixed on Loki with palpable menace.

And, yet, also, with a cautious puzzlement.

A grin stretched Thor's lips in the darkness, despite the tight set of his jaw. "They will not attack at once," Loki had said, when he'd outlined his plan for them. "They will wait. They think as one, and they will wait until, as one, they understand." And he had laughed. "And they'll wait until Ragnarok, if that be their goal."

Loki halted beside the dark firepit. He drew a dagger from his boot, and squatted on his heels, and, ignoring the demons, he began to trace something into the dusty ground before him.

A rising hum among the watchers, the hooded heads weaving back and forth, necks stretching to gain a better view. One lifted a long-fingered hand and pushed back its cowl, thrusting forward a sharp-angled face framed by a mane of pale hair. A breath, and then the others did the same; in the tiny halo of light from the coals in the firepit, their shadows crept lengthening across the ground as, in a single rippling movement, they leaned forward.

The dagger's point scraped harshly through the grit, while Loki's arm flowed in fluid, spiraling lines. He seemed absorbed in this task, his head bent over it, his shoulders relaxed. The demons muttered; from several throats arose long, wavering syllables that might have been words, and yet, somehow, weren't. All of the heads tilted askew, to one side, and then the other.

Then, as if they'd heard some soundless signal, they began sliding forward, slowly, slowly, converging on this brazen interloper, their malevolent attention so trained upon him that they failed to notice, off to the side, as first Thor, and then Brandr, his movements made clumsy by terror-strangled muscles, lowered themselves by the arms from the window well where they'd been lurking and dropped, softly, to the ground.

The flowing mass of demon-guard split in two, one half circling around Loki's huddled figure, the other spreading into a dark pool before him. The throbbing whirr of their voices had changed in tone, and now it was possible to hear the undercurrent of scorn and anger, a malign countermelody to their unwilling curiosity. In another moment, they had encompassed him, and Loki crouched alone beside the firepit, the silent linchpin of a writhing wheel of demons.

* * *

In an alcove at the juncture of two halls, a brightly-burning lantern hung suspended from a thick chain, and it spilled its light over the table beneath, where three guards slouched over a meager heap of coins, a collection of throwing pieces, and a grubby sheet of parchment listing the wagers, pinned to the table with the nicked blade of a well-used dagger. One of the players was just in the act of scooping up the dice for another throw, when his fellow stopped him with a cheerful wallop against his breastplate.

"There it is again. D'ye hear?"

He paused, chin lifted, a frown excavating a deep crevice between his brows. In the sudden silence, a series of dull thuds came echoing down the left-hand hall.

"What is that?" the third player asked, clambering to his feet. As the two others spun toward the sound, his fingers darted forward, and several of the coins disappeared into his belt pouch.

The first two turned back, and for a stretched moment a different game came into play, as they stared unblinkingly at one another, a game known very well indeed to guards on duty: Who Will Go and Do The Thing That Must Be Done?

Finally the first guard sighed, and shifted his scabbard to a more workable position; favoring his companions with a sour grimace, he set off down the hall. He'd passed the door to the Armory when the angry thumps sounded again, much louder this time, and clearly from within. Carefully, the guard drew his sword; as he eased into the room, the furious banging shook the hinges on one of the storage alcove doors, rattling its bar in the bracket. Puzzled, and more than a little wary, the guard raised the bar and flung wide the door, sword lifted.

And then the sword dropped from his fingers with a ringing clang, as he beheld his captain: bound and gagged, booted feet lifted to smack once more against the door, both eyes blackening beneath a green and purple bruise across the bridge of his nose, and his face swelling burgundy with incandescent rage.

* * *

Out in the courtyard, Loki shoved the dagger back into his belt; now he was collecting stones half-buried in the earth around him, and stacking them in a strangely compelling pattern, an arcane tower of pebbles. He curled himself over it; his hands moved with quick assurance, even though only the barest corona of dull red fire rimmed the last few coals under the kettle, and the darkness was almost total. His mind was wholly occupied with the movements of the demon-guard as they pressed more closely in around him. He did not allow himself to look at them, but he tracked the sounds of the feet, shuffling through the dust, the growing tension in their murmurs. He could picture what they were seeing: puzzling symbols scratched into the dirt, an inexplicable little structure now, rising under his hands. He imagined them, their large eyes flared open, straining to see, their minds struggling to understand why anyone would risk their wrath, their casual malevolence, to build a tower of stones in the dusty ground of the bailey. He smiled inwardly, and forced down the chuckle that rose in his throat. He reveled, for a moment, in the efficacy of the ridiculous, though he felt coiled readiness building itself to an almost unbearable pitch in the depths of his belly. Oh, yes. Of all of the weapons in his considerable arsenal, the wielding of chaos was by far the most potent.

_You cannot make sense of the nonsensical, you foolish creatures. But keep trying, little wolves. Come nearer. Feast your eyes._

They were close now, circling around him, veering and weaving like a shoal of fish. Out of the corner of one eye he could see the pale, lank hair of one falling forward as he bent to look more closely at the marks Loki had carved into the earth, all but invisible now.

For a stifling moment, the only stirring in the courtyard was the swift movements of his own hands.

Then he felt the shifting of the air, the sudden collapse of their patience, the surge of black anger, as clawed fingers reached out toward him, to grasp him by the shoulder and haul him upright.

With a lithe twist, he slid out from beneath their reach. He waited an instant, to be certain that all of their eyes were fastened on him, that they were all drawn in as closely as possible, with their black eyes wide and the pupils gaping thirstily to gather in the few particles of light in that dark courtyard.

Then he spread his arms, cocked his chin upward, and said, "Hail, Nornheimir _thraell_." As they registered the insult, and surged forward, hissing, he added, "And farewell!"

And before they could seize him, he conjured a single, large, fiery spark off the tip of one finger, and flicked it into the cider kettle.

With a percussive gasp, the abandoned brandy in the bottom of the kettle exploded into flames redolent of smoke and apples, a blazing tongue of furious light that seared itself directly into the pupils of every demon in the courtyard.

They threw up their arms, wailing, clawing at their eyes with hooked fingers. Their coordinated movements collapsed into violent spasms, and the howl of their fury filled the bailey to its brim.

As soon as he saw the spark arcing through the air, Thor nudged Brandr, a silent rap on the shoulder.

"Time to storm the gate, my friend."

Then he was running forward along the garden wall, huge, noiseless strides that left the guard far behind. He saw the fire erupt, from the corner of his eye, and hastily turned his face away to preserve his own night vision, his teeth flashing in a relieved grin. As the demon's screams assaulted the night air, he drew his sword, slid its tip through the lock securing the gate, and wrenched it open. He pushed the gate ajar, reached back without looking, grasped Brandr by the breastplate as he came stumbling forward with his hands over his ears to stifle the shrieking chaos, and pulled him bodily into the quiet garden.

Only a few moments had passed; the fire shrunk into a mass of sullen flames, slowly blackening the kettle, but all around, in the windows of the towers surrounding the bailey, lamps were flaring, as shutters were thrown open and wary heads thrust through to stare down into the fluttering maelstrom that the courtyard had become. The added light drove the demons into a further, raging fury, and cast their flailing staggering about into a hellish dance of flitting shadow and slanting shards of lamplight. As their yowling ratcheted upward in volume, Thor risked a glance, eyes darting until he found a dark figure, gracefully easing its way through the blinded demons, twisting aside here, swerving lightly there, avoiding any touch. As Thor watched, one of the demons halted, suddenly, eyes streaming, face lifted: slitted nostrils opening wide as he batted an arm out, fingers groping. Loki ducked beneath, but the demon's other arm swung around and seized his shoulder.

"Curse it!" Thor swore, softly; he lunged forward, one step, but then he saw the flash of a dagger in his brother's hand, heard the gasping rattle of a punctured lung, saw the demon fall to one knee.

Loki whirled around, from the demon's other side, and as the creature collapsed, he whipped off its enveloping cloak, and swirled it around his own body.

The kettle fire was burning itself out, devouring all the brandy-soaked apples that remained in the bottom of the pot. Loki came running forward toward the gate; a flash of acknowledgement lit his eyes as he saw Thor waiting there. In another instant, he was through the opening; Thor pulled the gate closed behind him. They shared a speaking glance, and then, as one, they spun, each grasping the gaping Brandr by one of his upper arms; they pushed the guard before them back into the garden's sweet-scented shadows, and deposited him against the leaning trunk of an ancient pine. He fell forward, hands on his knees, swallowing convulsively. Thor caught the bitter scent of bile.

After a moment, he looked up at them, his face a pale smudge in the darkness, and he said, "We are all going to die."

"Is that a philosophical statement, or a prediction?" Loki's voice was tinged with impatience. "Because if it's the latter, I can only express my sincere disappointment in your lack of faith."

"You are mad!"

"Am I?' he turned to Thor. "Brother?"

Thor grunted. "That remains to be seen."

"That's not the answer I was hoping for."

Thor's voice deepened with impatience. "We've no time for nonsense, Loki. Let's go."

Brandr said tightly, "And how are we going to get out again? The courtyard is full of demons."

"I've negated that problem," Loki said.

"For now! They'll regain their vision, soon enough!"

A soft creak of leather as Loki shrugged. "Well, yes. But that's a _new_ problem, to be dealt with as it arises."

Brandr groaned, low in his chest, and bent over again, head hanging. Thor regarded him, arms folded, and then, jerking a thumb in his direction, said grimly, "This is the difficulty with subterfuge, brother. It makes a man physically ill."

"Only those weak of stomach. Surely you, my brother, are made of sterner stuff."

"I am not weak!" Brandr protested. He straightened, steadying himself with one hand against the tree's trunk.

"Fine," said Thor.

"Excellent," said Loki

"Let's go then," said Thor.

Brandr sighed, "What are we going to do?"

"What we came for," Thor said, and he turned his face toward the tiny cottage, half-hidden by a grove of dark trees on the far edge of the garden.

"If the child is truly there, she will be guarded," Brandr muttered.

Thor looked back at him; in the darkness his voice was cool. "That will not be a problem, new or old."

* * *

In a small room, sparsely furnished, an old servant woman sat before the fire, her head cocked to one side as she listened to the distant sound of demon-screeching, somewhere out there in the night.

"What are those devils about?" she muttered. Her gaze strayed from the fire to settle upon the little bed in the corner, where a child slept, the flames throwing strange shadows over her tear-stained face. The old woman's eyes softened.

"Poor little mite."

Then she frowned, and sat firmly upright, sucking in her breath; a soft thud, outside, and a sighing groan, and a strangled oath from one of the guards, out there on the doorstep, cut off with a gurgle in mid-syllable.

Slowly, the old woman levered herself upward out of the chair's embrace. For a moment, she stood irresolute; she pressed trembling fingers to her lips. And then, lips stiffening, she reached forward, and grasped the poker leaning against the hearth, and, heart pounding, sidled over to the door. She drew in a harsh breath, and then lifted the latch and eased the door open, poker held high.

A strong hand whipped through the opening, and caught her wrist. Another reached in and plucked the poker from her nerveless fingers, and she looked up into a sharp-featured face that smiled with winning charm, and said, "Good evening, _amma_."

She backed away from the door, and suddenly the room was overwhelmingly full of large armored men. She blinked, and realized, after a startled moment, that it was actually only three.

One of them closed the door, silently. The other, huge and fair, slipped across the room to crouch beside the child's bed, and lay a gentle hand upon her shoulder.

"Nanna," he murmured.

She glanced up again, into the amused eyes of the one who held her arm, and she said, her voice creaking, "You've come for the child?"

"Aye. That we have."

She pulled on her arm, just a little, and felt a distant surprise when he released her at once. Carefully, she reseated herself upon her chair, and said, chin lifted, "I'll not be stopping ye."

The smile, again. "No, you won't, _amma_. But I thank you for sparing us the trouble of convincing you."

She ran her eyes over him, her gaze lingering on the hilt of the dagger shoved into his belt, and then, with a strong arch to her brow, on the giant sword thrust into the fair one's leather scabbard. She allowed herself the indulgence of a humorless chuckle. "I'm many things, young man. But I am not now, nor have I ever been, a fool."

On the bed, the child stirred and stretched. For an instant, blank confusion filmed her eyes, as they opened, and then her whole body stiffened in terror and she froze, like a wild thing paralyzed in the gaze of a predator. Only her eyes moved, and her gaze was caught and held by Thor's open face and warm eyes, and, after a moment, she let out a shaking breath.

"Nanna," he said, again. "We've come to take you home. Back to Asgard, child. To your family."

She let out a whimpering sob, staring up at him, and then she flung herself upward, into his arms. At once, he stood, cradling her against his chest, and, after a silent moment, he asked, "Can you walk, child?"

A tiny nod, against his chest. He set her on her feet, and her eyes went to Loki and then to Brandr, only now truly seeing them, and her face blanched. She pressed close against Thor's thigh, chin shaking with suppressed tears, lips stiff with terror. Loki eyed her for a moment, smearing away with two gloved fingers a splash of blood on his cheekbone, relic of the brief encounter between his fist and the nose of one of the cottage's guards. He exchanged a quick glance with Thor, and then crouched down before her.

She cowered further behind Thor's leg. His hand tightened on her shoulder and he murmured, "Steady, now, child. This is . . . "

Loki held up a hand, giving Thor a quicksilver shake of his head. Then he said, voice solemn and low, holding the child's gaze with his own, "I am Loki of Asgard."

He waited, and after a moment the ingrained habits of etiquette impressed upon the child by her mother asserted themselves, and she answered, in a whisper, "I am Nanna."

Loki nodded. "Well met. I bring you greeting, from your mother."

The child's face lifted, a spark lighting her gray eyes. "You know Mama?"

"I have seen her just yesterday, in fact." He lifted a finger to his chin, his eyes narrowed in thought, "Let me see. . . She was wearing a blue gown, a pretty gown with a green apron over it. Yes?"

At the child's nod, he added, the corners of his eyes crinkling with sudden humor, "And yet she wore such very heavy, sturdy black boots?"

She smiled, shyly. "That is for the goat pen. She was in the goat pen . . . when the bad men . . . " Her voice faltered. The smile disappeared as the little face stiffened in memory, the eyes sliding away. Loki shifted his weight, leaning closer, capturing her attention once again.

"Ah, yes. Goats. Such unfortunate creatures." He raised a brow. "So very . . . " and he sniffed, with an exaggerated lift of his head as he said, ". . . untidy."

She giggled, a tiny gasp of laughter that nonetheless prompted an answering smile from Loki. "My brother here is fond of goats."

Thor grunted, and when Nanna looked up at him, he rolled his eyes ceiling-ward and said, gruffly, "I am most assuredly not. He's a terrible liar, this brother of mine."

She smiled, catching her bottom lip with her teeth.

"Nanna," Loki's voice had turned softer, more dark, and his face was serious as she looked back to him. '''Would you like to come with us, now, to your mother?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, please," she said.

"Then so we shall," he said, and he stood, and waved a hand toward Thor. "And you shall ride upon the back of this noble steed."

As he lifted the child onto Thor's back, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, he said, gravely, "But as we go, we must be quiet as stalking cats. Can you do that?"

She nodded, eager to please. "Aye. Yes, my lord."

"Good. Hold tight to your perch then, little rider."

Thor turned swiftly, and Brandr twitched the door open. Man and child disappeared soundlessly out into the dark, with the guard close behind. Loki paused, on the threshold, as the old woman's voice stopped him.

"You'd best lock me in the kitchen, boy," she said.

He turned, "Shall I?"

"I have no wish to be blamed for this night's work. I'll tell them you overpowered me, three strong men. What chance does an old woman stand?"

Loki grinned. "None at all, apparently."

He stepped forward, and offered her his arm with a flourish. "If I may escort you?"

As he slipped out into the dark garden a short while later, stepping lightly around the bodies of the erstwhile door-guards, he found Brandr and Thor waiting for him, and his gaze fell upon the guard, coldly measuring.

Thor wheeled about at once and melted away into the shadows; Brandr moved to follow, but he was halted, suddenly, by a firm grip on his arm. He turned to find Loki's eyes studying him, coldly amused.

"Friend," he said, and his voice was not friendly. "I feel it is in your best interest to show you something, before we set out on the final leg of this noble venture." And he twisted his hand, and opened his fist to reveal a small object, gleaming in the faint light from the cottage windows. Brandr leaned closer, against his will, eyes narrowed. Then he raised his head and said, "A gold piece?"

"Good yellow Asgardian gold. Inscribed with the Valknut of Odin, no less."

Brandr's face was a study in confusion. "I don't want your gold."

"Oh, I know that you do not. For only a traitor to Nornheim would accept the gold of Asgard."

Brandr's face convulsed for a moment, in frustration and hatred. "I'm no traitor."

"Of course. I know that. And you know that. But if you should suddenly be gripped by a desire to _prove_ your loyalty to the Keep, by betraying my brother and myself, well. . . what a shock it will be to your fellow guards, when they find Asgardian gold spilling from your pockets."

Brandr backed away. "I won't have any gold!"

"Yes, you will. I will make certain that you do." Loki closed his fist, and opened it again, and now the single gold piece had multiplied into a gleaming handful. "Do we understand one another?"

He held the man's gaze, until stiffly, he nodded.

Without another word, Loki waved his hand; the gold had disappeared as if it had never existed. "After you. Quickly now."

Brandr lifted his lips, baring his teeth, but he twisted away, disappearing after Thor into the shadows under the trees, and Loki followed, just behind.

By the time they'd reached the little silver gate, and pressed themselves close against the wall to peer carefully through, it was already apparent that the demons in the courtyard were recovering. Their vicious screeching spoke of rage, now, rather than pain; Thor whispered, grimly, "We'll not be simply walking out of here, Loki."

Loki nodded. "No." He pursed his lips, his eyes distant as he peered out into the courtyard. Thor could almost hear the thoughts racing behind his eyes. After a moment, he glanced back, and whispered, "I'll have to risk a little magic . . . "

Even as he spoke, a thunderous crash echoed through the courtyard. All three of them cocked their heads, craning their necks to see around the gateway's edge; a door in one of the towers had burst open, banging wildly on its hinges, and an entire troop of Nornheimir guard was spilling out into the demon-haunted courtyard.

And then a large and furious figure filled the door's opening: the captain of the guard, now possessed of a lividly bruised face, two blackened eyes, and a bellyful of rage.

Thor glanced sidelong at Loki, both brows lifted, but then his face tightened and his eyes flashed as he saw that his brother was already pulling the hood of the black demon-cloak up over his face.

"Loki," his voice held a warning. "What are you doing?"

"Making use of the materials at hand, brother. Be ready!"

Thor reached out to grasp his arm, but Loki had already slipped out through the gate, and vanished into the chaotic darkness of the bailey.

* * *

**_Note: There's no indication, in any of Marvel's lore, that Frigga is acquainted, in the past, with Karnilla, Queen of the Norns. That is purely an invention of mine, to give more texture to this story. But I'd like to think that Frigga's past was lively, and that the stories she has to tell would be interesting ones, indeed._**


	5. Chapter 5

**_Veil of Smoke_**

* * *

_**Due to the unfortunate amount of time since the last update (sorry, sorry, sorry), a brief synopsis of the story thus far may prove helpful, so, if you like, here it is. Otherwise, skip down just a bit, and dive right in...**_

While engaged on a wild, breakneck hunt, Thor and Loki, in company with their mother and assorted other companions, came upon a village, burnt to the ground; the villagers, panicked and fearful, related a tale of horrifying invaders, demon-guards from Nornheim, who'd destroyed their homes and stolen away one of the village children.

Frigga determined to send her sons to retrieve the child, with stealth and diplomacy. As they prepared to leave, she counseled Loki to guide his brother, to be a voice of reason in the face of Thor's sometimes exuberant courage. Then the princes set out for the Nornkeep along a hidden, secret path that Loki insisted they take.

Once they'd reached the Keep, Loki breached its rear wall using the rather unusual combination of a falcon and a pine cone, and, in the course of doing so, the princes gained a very reluctant comrade-in-arms: a guard of the Nornkeep, a fellow named Brandr. With his unwilling cooperation, gained through threats and the offer of asylum in Asgard, they made their way to the Armory, and, after rendering the Captain they found there senseless and locking him in a storeroom, disguised themselves as Nornheimir guards.

Frigga, meanwhile, sought insight into the motive for this strange crime. (_"Why would anyone seek to take a child who belonged to another people?" Loki asked. "There is always a reason," she answered, her voice thin and stretched._) She used her skill as a seer to look into the past, and she discovered, to her dismay, that the Norn Queen, fearful of reprisals, had sent the bulk of her fearsome demon-guard to patrol the central mountain pass between Asgard and Nornheim. If Thor and Loki were somehow to return that way, they would run headlong into an encampment of enemies. Swiftly, then, she gathered Lady Sif, and the Warriors Hogun and Fandral, and rode out toward the border herself.

Judicious questioning of Brandr, and clever deduction, guided the princes to the Keep's inner bailey, which bordered a walled garden where the child was being held. By this time, however, dusk was falling, and the bailey had become the dangerous haunt of the Keep's remaining demon-guards, a formidable obstacle. Once more Loki's strategy, involving an abandoned cider-kettle this time, cleared their way, and they were able to gain the garden, and, once there, free the child.

But the demons recovered quickly from Loki's attack, and again prevented a final escape from the Keep. As they crouched by the gate, considering their next move, a door slammed open and the captain of the guard, whom they'd left bound in the Armory, came roaring into the Keep, bellowing with rage. At once, the wheels of Loki's thought provided him with a clever plan, a way to make use of the materials at hand, and, so, despite Thor's protest, he slipped through the gate, and out into the dark, demon-haunted bailey . . .

* * *

**Veil of Smoke**

**Part 5/6**

"_Helviti_!"

The oath escaped Thor's throat, dagger-swift, before he would swallow it; Nanna's grip on his shoulders stiffened in response. His outstretched hand closed into a fist and then thumped down against his thigh; his lips compressed into a hard line as his eyes sought for Loki's cloaked form out in the demon-choked courtyard.

Nothing. His brother had vanished into the darkness like a _draugr_, leaving Thor with no choice but to do as Loki had bid, and be ready. And wait.

Curse it all, how he hated waiting . . .

He was aware of Nanna's tension, in her slight weight upon his back. Carefully he crouched; as she slid to the ground he steadied her with one large hand between her shoulders. Her eyes, too, were fastened with unwilling fascination on the shifting shadows in the bailey, and he felt a shiver ripple through her.

"Steady, now. All is well," he murmured.

"He left us," she said. Her voice ebbed uncertainly.

"He will return, child. He seeks a way forward, a clever way to deceive the dark guards so that we may escape."

At the opposite side of the gate, a dismissive breath chuffed out from between Brandr's lips. Thor glanced at him; his shoulders were hunched, his eyes hooded as he stared at the toes of his boots. When he felt Thor's gaze, he looked up with a scowl and said, "Oh, yes, very clever. And so enamored of his own cleverness! And if his cleverness fails, what then?"

"He will not fail."

"I'll be strung up by my bootheels from the battlements, that's what. A traitor to the Keep. This is the fate you and your damned brother have brought upon me."

Thor stood, though one hand remained, gentle, ruffling the hair atop Nanna's head. His voice was mild, but the eye he turned on the Nornheimir guard was frosted with cold. "You will not meet with such a fate. We have given you our word of honor that you will find asylum in Asgard. That promise still holds."

Brandr crossed his arms over his chest as if protecting all his vital parts. "Does it? But your promise means little unless that wildling can somehow pull yet another impossible trick out from under his cloak."

"His tricks have served us well this day, little man."

The guard's mouth stretched into a humorless smile. "That's your strategy for any situation, is it not? Your plan of attack? Remain behind and keep a weather eye on your crazed brother. Let him plunge headlong into the deathtrap, and you'll follow along behind, eh?"

"He is a match for it." Thor felt his neck tightening, the pulse suddenly pounding angrily at his temple, and he stared into Brandr's eyes until the guard swiveled his face away with a smirk. But the words swirled queasily through Thor's mind, pitching him adrift into a swift current of memory both unbidden and unsought.

_Plunge headlong. Plunge into a deathtrap. . ._

There'd been a day, swallowed long ago by the past's hungry mouth: a midsummer hunt, with he and Loki far in the vanguard. They'd halted, wheeling the horses in the face of a thick stand of pines choked with undergrowth; a fading crack and rustle in the brush marked the progress of their prey, as the boar they'd been harrying fled beyond their reach into the wood's impregnable fastnesses. And he'd said, "We've lost it. Father will be disappointed; the beast's been savaging the flocks in the lowlands."

Loki had flashed him that inscrutable, glinting glance, filled with humor but also edged and shadowed by some deeper emotion, and he'd said, "Well, we cannot plunge headlong into a thicket after a wounded boar; it's a deathtrap. Father's disappointment will be our burden to bear."

Thor remembered the defiance, heating his blood. "Who dares to say that we cannot?"

Loki's brow, rising in challenge. "Everyone? Anyone who's ever hunted boar?"

Thor had reached out to clap his brother's shoulder, shaking his head with exaggerated pity.

"Brother. You speak the words of cowardice. We are not just _anyone_; we are the sons of Odin!"

And he had dismounted with a wild swing and thrown himself into the undergrowth, twisting and bending his body to follow the faint trail of broken twigs and blood-smeared leaves, the spear gripped tight in his hand, the musky odor of wounded boar strong in his nostrils. But- -oh yes he remembered it as if it were this morning's shadow and not the shade of many years past- -he'd been aware, for the first time, of a tension at the base of his skull: not fear- -no, of course not that- - but rather a sharp reluctance to go forward alone. He'd slowed his steps, taking more care than was needed to duck beneath branches and clamber over fallen logs. Finally, at last, he'd heard the crunch of leaves underfoot, an exaggerated sigh of severely-tried patience, and the light footsteps that meant that his brother was, indeed, following. His heart had lightened, then; for did not the sons of Odin always face the foe together? He hadn't wanted to pursue a maddened, desperate boar unless Loki guarded his back.

It had always been so: a strait-forward plunge into battle with his brother at his back. Why had that changed? How was it that here, in this dark and dangerous Keep, Loki had become the one to take the plunge?

_Because you have allowed it_, his heart whispered. _You should be the one out in that courtyard, rather than allowing him to risk himself so wildly. _

_But I had no notion of what to do, _his mind retorted. _I knew not how to effect our escape, and he did. He knew at once. Because he is clever._

_He is clever . . . _

_"So enamored of his own cleverness!" _Brandr's voice slithered into his thoughts and coiled around them like a serpent subduing its prey.

"Borr's Helm, Loki," he swore, under his breath.

Nanna reached up, her small fingers twisting anxiously in the folds of his cloak. Her eyes were frightened.

With an effort, Thor smiled down at her. "Shall I tell you a tale, child, to pass the time? Would that please you?"

He ignored Brandr's derisive sniff. Nanna hesitated, her eyes sliding to the guard's scornful face, and then, deliberately, she brought her gaze back to Thor, and nodded.

"Well, then, hear me now, for once, long ago, my brother and I were trapped, deep in a wood, cornered by a wounded, and very angry, boar . . ."

As he spoke, he compelled his voice to remain even and schooled his face into calm planes. But his fist tapped against his thigh, over and over, as his eyes followed the surging, distorted shadows out in the bailey.

_Be careful, brother. How can I return to our mother and say that the blood shed this day was yours?_

* * *

In the bailey, the Nornheimir guards were lining themselves along the perimeter of the yard, eyeing the demons warily. The sharp, oddly-angled faces gleamed in the rectangles of lamplight that spilled from the windows, wet with the discharge from their wounded eyes; the pupils, blown wide by Loki's attack, were focusing now, blearily, and, like a flock of birds thrown asunder by a hawk diving through their midst, they were regathering themselves. Their hissing voices lost the keening wail of pain and shaded back toward mindful, cold-edged anger.

The captain of the guard raked them with his eyes, his feet planted belligerently wide, his arms crossed so tightly across his chest that his biceps bulged in protest.

"Search the bailey!" he commanded.

His men hesitated, their dubious fear obvious even in the dim light. The captain's jaw flexed, straining to contain his rage.

"Do it," he bellowed. "Search the bailey! That sly-faced hound is somewhere within the Keep and by the Queen's crown we will find him. Search!"

He thrust one arm out, fingers stiff, toward the agitated demons. "Don't think to interfere, demonkind! We work the Queen's business, same as you, and she will hear of it if you trifle with my men!"

The demons checked their formless movements, and as one they pivoted toward the captain. He stiffened under their hostile regard; a flush, brick-red, spread itself over his face.

"Search the bailey. Now!" His voice throbbed with the promise of punishment to any soldier who would disobey.

Finally, one of the guards sidled forward, a scuttling, awkward motion, and seized a dead torch from the firepit. He jabbed it down into the smoking coals below the hanging kettle, and stirred the fire back into life. Lifting the sputtering brand, he edged into the crowd of demons, the torch held before him like a talisman.

The demons' scratchy laughter met him, but they backed away from the torch like water from oil, averting their wounded eyes from its light.

Doubtful glances lanced among the remaining guards. But, as the captain's hands curled into fists and he began to rumble like an overheated stewpot, they followed their fellow guard's lead, arming themselves with burning brands, and filtering out into the bailey.

Loki watched them, from the temporary shelter of the niche beneath the buttress, and he noted the hatred and fear that marked their faces, as they whipped their torches this way and that. He let out a breath, silently, a thin sigh of sardonic amusement.

_Oh, but you despise them, don't you, guards of Nornheim? The Queen's monstrous, dangerous pets . . . _

He tilted his head to one side, studying the patterns in the demon's were more complex, now: groups of three or four drifting in eddying curves meant to confuse and infuriate the guards searching among them. He watched as they encircled one hapless guard; he spun around, his face tight with sudden fear, breath puffing harshly, knuckles white as he grasped his torch with both hands. And as quickly as they'd trapped him, they melted away, leaving him crouched awkwardly, his eyes blazing with humiliated rage.

_You hate them. You fear them. And they disdain you. Such . . . useful emotions. _

This situation could not have been more ideal if he had shaped it with his own hands. His gaze hovered then, once more, over the captain's fury-mottled face, and a spark of laughter glittered in his eyes.

He pulled his hood low, and eased out of the dark niche, attaching himself to the outer edge of then flowing stream of demons. A memory overtook him, then, sharp and bright as new-poured ale: his mother and himself, heavily cloaked, huddled in the darkened doorway of a silk-weaver's shop at the edge of Asgard's central marketplace. She'd woken him at dawn, and handed him the cloak without a word, bidding him be silent with a firm gesture, though the half-smile she bent on him as they slipped through the gate and out into the streets seemed to belie her serious mien. He'd pressed a hand to his chest, certain his heart would burst with suspense, when they'd finally halted here_._

"Why . . .?" he'd begun, and she'd laid a finger on his lips, and murmured, "Today we shall walk through the market, my son. And we shall be invisible to every eye."

He smiled inwardly, now, as he twisted and flowed through the dark chaos of the Keep's courtyard. How he'd frowned, while his child's spirit had secretly thrilled to be discussing the ways and means of magic with his mother, she with her formidable skills.

"But surely that isn't possible?" he'd asked. "Our magic isn't capable of that?"

She'd leaned closer, her eyes dancing as she lifted the overhanging hem of his hood enough to peer down into his face. "You're right. It is not. But I do not speak of magic, Loki. There are other ways to disappear."

He must have looked his confusion, for her smile broadened, and she'd said, "We shall hide in plain sight, you and I, a magic derived not from dark energy but from the very nature of the people around us. They see only what they expect to see, for the most part, and that's what we'll give them. Two cloaked travelers, walking confidently through the crowd. The shortened stride, the hesitant gesture: these draw the eye more surely than the loudest shout. But we will walk, quiet and strong, and no one will give us a second glance."

He'd eyed her doubtfully, and she'd laughed. "You must trust my experience, my dear."

"I do, of course, Mother," He'd cocked a brow at her. "But, please, when have you ever had need to vanish into a crowd?"

"Ah. I see. To you I am only your gentle Mother, and that is how it always is, with children and their parents. But you must remember that I am now, and have always been, more than just your mother. I am Frigga, of Asgard."

His heart had vibrated in tune with the ring in her voice. He'd drawn himself up, and tried to match it. "And I am Loki, of Asgard."

"Yes." Her hand, soft on his shoulder. "So you are, my child. And so you shall always be. Never forget that."

Then she'd drawn her hood further over her head, and her voice had said, warmly, "Are you ready? To vanish?"

He'd followed her, into the bright morning of the marketplace, trying with all of his childish might to mimic every movement she'd made . . .

As he glided forward, now, adapting his stride to the hooded figures around him, his eye upon the captain of the Nornheimir guard, Loki smiled to himself. In this, as in many other things, his mother's wisdom had served him well.

On every side, the demons pressed close; he could feel their anger at the guard's invasion of their nighttime haunt, a fresh rage made all the more hot by the incandescent fury he'd provoked with the cider-kettle trick. The guards' actions only stoked that fire, as they thrust the torches here and there, the light flaring up into demon-faces that jerked away in response, fangs bared. Loki allowed the circling flow of the demons to carry him across the yard, until he was directly below the doorway where the captain stood, glaring. He reached inside himself then, and skimmed a tiny draught of power from the well of dark energy pooled at the core of his being. In a thin, quiet stream, he released it, and conjured a mailed gauntlet over his left hand.

Then, deliberately, as he stepped through the wavering block of light spilling from the open doorway, he shortened his stride, the briefest of hesitations, a subtle jerk of movement that nonetheless, as his mother had shown him so long ago, drew the eye like a wasp to spilled honey. He bent his head, keeping the hood far forward, and twisted back toward the center of the yard, but all of his senses were focused on the spaces around him, and he heard the pound of boot heels approaching, and the roughly indrawn breath as a hand seized him by the shoulder and his hood was ripped away.

The captain of the guard stared into his face, his eyes bulging with ugly glee.

"I guess I'll have that pleasure after all," he sneered.

Loki lifted both brows. He quirked the corner of his mouth in a smug expression calculated to be as deeply provoking as possible.

"Of seeing you rot in my dungeons!" the man continued, face reddening. He tightened his grip, and turned his head, his shoulders rising as he filled his lungs and drew in breath to shout for his men. But before he could let the shout fly, Loki brought up his left arm in a brutal chop, driving his armored fist under the man's chin like a sprung beartrap. The captain's head snapped back, his teeth slamming together with an audible clack, and his eyes rolled back white. As he began to fall, Loki scythed his legs out from under him with an efficient swing of one leg.

It was a silent attack, the work of a few moments only, and all of it masked by darkness and shadow and tall, hooded demons. Loki waited, for an instant more, for an opening to appear, and then he pushed the man's body away, lifting and thrusting it with a booted foot, so that it flopped and rolled like a child's plaything, and came to a stop with a thud beside the firepit, a crumpled, boneless heap.

The entire courtyard froze. The demons murmured, and seethed with confusion for a moment; then, as one, they converged into a single mass. The guards spread among them stirred, staring at the huddled body on the ground and then at one another in consternation.

Loki whirled, spinning out from between two of the demons; as he straightened, he threw back his hood, and came to a stop with his head uncovered, centered in the light falling from one of the tower windows.

His face was no longer his own; he'd borrowed one that he'd come to know rather well, that day.

One of the nearest guards started, and peered at him uncertainly. He stepped forward, while two of his fellows ran to bend over the fallen captain. "Brandr?" he ventured, voice filled with question, clearly audible in the stillness that gripped the courtyard.

Loki twisted Brandr's face into an enraged mask. He lifted a shaking finger, and pointed it at the fallen captain. "They struck him down!" he rasped.

The guard's face creased with puzzlement. "Who did?"

Loki swung his arm toward the swaying, leering demons.

"This scum! This . . . hive of evil insects! These demons! They struck the captain down! They dared to touch _one of us_!"

He stooped, and seized a dark, smoking brand from the firepit; he swept it through the air, and it flared to life, a surging, eager flame. The demons leaned away from it, wheezing and sighing their uneasiness, lifting their hands and forearms to shelter their tender eyes. They retreated, leaving a small, cleared space around him, but their voices rose and fell in an agitated buzz. Loki swung the burning torch skyward, the sharp lines of Brandr's cheekbones casting fantastic shadows over his clenched jaw. He allowed Brandr's eyes to glow, wild with hate and a kind of ecstatic madness, and the demons hissed and writhed around him, though they kept a careful distance from the fire. He glared at them and pulled Brandr's lips back in a sneer.

"Look at you! You hideous creatures! What have any decent men to do with such abominations?"

He tossed the torch to his other hand, and shook his fist. "My brothers! My fellow guards! The demons are a plague upon the Nornkeep. They've struck down the captain. Which of us will they fall upon next?"

His voice was shaking with passion; his eyes drilling into the face of every guard whose gaze he could capture. The guards were shifting their feet, lifting their swords, looking at one another in confusion and a growing dread. Loki could almost hear their panicked thoughts: Had Brandr gone mad? Why didn't someone stop him?

Circling round, the demons chittered and buzzed like hornets spilling from a broken nest.

Loki uncurled his fist, and stabbed his hand outward in a gesture that was unmistakably obscene, a deadly insult; the demons were instantly, ominously silent, and with Brandr's voice ratcheted up almost to a shriek, Loki's bellowed, "They cannot destroy us if we destroy them first! Death to them! Death to every demon! Send them to the cold passages of Hel where they belong. And long live the Guard of Nornheim!"

And suddenly he spun, and thrust his burning torch into the face of the nearest demon.

The creature screamed, a hideous yowl. An answering screech was pulled from every demon throat, and then, as one, their heads swiveled; their baleful glares focused on the guards among them. And, with a vengeful hiss, they wheeled about, to and fro, and fell upon the guards around them in a blind rage.

The courtyard exploded into a frenzied clash of sword and demon-claw, a shouting, grappling, unmitigated brawl.

Loki, hidden once more in the depths of his demon-cloak, gazed for a moment upon his handiwork. Then he made his way toward the silver garden gate, watching it narrowly even as he sidestepped a pair of guards grappling with a demon, and he saw two dark forms slip out and vanish into the deeper shadows along the wall.

He grinned then, tightly, and ran forward, weaving through the melee like the wind through grass. As Thor and Brandr gained the meager safety of an arched passageway, he slid into the shadows with them. Nanna, cradled under one of Thor's arms, reached out and tugged on his cloak in greeting. He inclined his head, gravely, dropping one eyelid in a solemn wink.

Thor jerked a thumb out toward the courtyard.

"Surtur's Fire, brother! Is this diplomacy? We promised no bloodshed."

Loki cast a frown over his shoulder, and then waved a dismissive hand. "We aren't shedding any blood. What they do amongst themselves is their own affair. Our oath is intact. Mostly."

A blood-curdling howl erupted, and a guard stumbled headlong against the silver gate, rattling it on its hinges.

"Whether it will remain so," Loki added, "depends upon the speed with which we depart this festive gathering."

"No doubt," Thor agreed, and he turned toward Brandr, frowning as he took in the guard's clenched jaw. "Are you well, man? If we take this passage out, will we be nearer to the stables . . ."

The words were still on his lips when, with a ringing bang that cut through the cacophony in the courtyard, a set of double doors on a balcony opposite were flung open, and a slim, graceful figure strode out. The flickering light gleamed on a fall of lustrous black hair, and two pale hands raised in a gesture of furious command. An imperious voice demanded, "What madness is this?"

Brandr stiffened, staring up at her. He mouthed, soundless, "My Queen," and then his face hardened, his eyes flashed, and he stepped forward, neck cording as he prepared to shout.

Loki sprang at him, clapping one hand over the guard's mouth and wrapping the other around his throat, pulling him deeper into the passageway. With a muffled oath, Thor swung Nanna up unto his shoulders, whirled, and seized Brandr's arm above the elbow. Together, they hustled him backward, his feet stumbling and dragging.

The Norn Queen's voice followed them, echoing down the passageway's curved walls. "Cease this brawling at once!"

At the passage's far end, a huge, heavy wooden door awaited, balanced on enormous iron hinges. Thor thrust out his arm like a battering ram; it burst open before them, and they spilled out into the chill night air, with thin starlight glowing wanly on the pale rock of the surrounding cliffs.

Loki thrust Brandr away; he spun, and grasped the edge of the door, and eased it silently closed. Then he turned back, chin lifting as he grinned at Thor, and said, "Thus we storm the Nornkeep, brother . . ."

Brandr ripped his arm from Thor's grasp, his face contorted with fury. He ran forward, two strides; his fist came up, cocked back behind his shoulder, and then shot forward like a thrown spear, directly at Loki's jaw.

There was a flash of blurred movement, and then a loud smack of flesh on flesh, as Loki caught the incoming blow in his hand, closing his long fingers over Brandr's clenched fist.

"Brandr!" Thor growled. Nanna, peering over his shoulder, let out a startled squeak.

The moment hung there, silent. Brandr's bicep strained against the leather of his armored sleeve; the skin of his neck reddened over the stiffened, bulging muscles. He leaned forward, his lips baring clenched teeth, but he could not thrust his fist any further forward.

Loki's knuckles were whitening. He raised one questioning brow. "Something troubles you, Nornheimir?"

"You used my face!" the guard hissed fiercely, his voice thin and brittle with rage. "My face!"

"I used the materials at hand," Loki answered.

"I will be branded a lunatic! As well as a traitor!"

Loki eyed him narrowly. "And what does it matter? You travel with us to Asgard, do you not? Or have you . . . changed your mind, about that?"

"No, damn you! Not after you dared to use my face! "

"I would dare a great deal more than that, to deliver my brother, myself and this child safely back to Asgard. I do what I will, with no recourse to your delicate sensibilities."

He loosened his grip, and pushed the guard's fist away.

Brandr bared his teeth, and drew breath to speak, but Loki raised his chin and murmured, "Do not raise your hand to me again. You will rue the day."

"I already rue this day." Brandr's eyes were bleak, lit with incandescent fury.

Thor stepped between them, raised a hand to Brandr's chest, and pushed him back a step. "Enough of this! We must be off," he growled. "Brandr, the stables. Now!"

Loki smiled, though no humor glowed in his eyes. "My brother chafes for the road, Nornheimir. Lead on."

Face expressionless, Brandr twisted on his heel, and without another word, stalked off into the darkness. Loki watched him go, and then traded a grim glance with his brother.

"Not the most amiable of companions," he murmured. "Somehow I feel he's not nearly as fond of us as we are of him."

Thor shook his head, mouth tight. "We must shoot the arrow we've notched, brother. And hope it flies true."

* * *

Hogun and Sif had rolled several downed logs near to the fire, and Fandral had spread his cloak over one with a gallant bow. So Frigga had seated herself, and allowed them to serve her, knowing well that busyness of hand suited warriors far better than idle lounging.

Fandral stepped closer now, offering her a cup of warm mead dipped from the pot that stood gently simmering at the fire's edge.

"Are you well, my lady? It was a hard, long ride, to come this far in the course of a day."

"I am, thank you." She smiled, and took the cup from his hand, but as her gaze fell back to the fire, the smile faded, and lines of tension carved themselves along either side of her mouth.

Sif, studying her, stirred suddenly, and said, "Do not fear, my lady. We saw the princes' tracks, diverging from the main road. They've taken some secret, stealthy route into Nornheim."

Hogun growled, "And no doubt will return again by the same path."

"Bearing the child like a snugly-wrapped parcel," Fandral swept her an extravagant bow.

Frigga chuckled. She could see the same thought on all of their faces, and she voiced it, though it felt dangerous, somehow, to do so. "And meanwhile the demon-guard will occupy the central passes in vain. Well, I hope it may be so."

She twisted on her perch, to look over her shoulder to where the jagged peaks of Asgard's Northern Marches blotted out the brilliant starlight with their dark, sharp silhouettes. Slowly, they all did the same, each eye tracing the deep break in the mountains' wall, the principle pass between Asgard and Nornheim.

Finally, Fandral spoke, his voice deliberately cheerful. "They will camp there on the heights, until their long noses turn blue with cold. And meanwhile the princes will come dashing home, along an unknown, crooked back road."

"Indeed they will," Frigga said, and then a note of steel made itself felt underneath the gentle cadence of her voice. "But, nevertheless, we will make for the pass ourselves. I will show myself to the demon-guard, and demand an accounting from the Norn Queen. Such a further distraction from us can only be a help, to the princes on their hidden path."

"We are at your service, my lady," said Sif. "And theirs."

* * *

The rising moon, a miserly crescent, grudgingly bestowed a thin silvery halo over Nanna's head as Thor lifted her into the saddle, cautioning her once more to silence with a finger on his lips. Brandr and Loki were already mounted, waiting, at the stableyard's rear gate, a broadly arched portal that pierced the wall itself, and would finally allow them exit from this cursed Keep. Brandr had unbarred it, and pushed it open just far enough to allow the horses' passage. He glanced back, his face grim with impatience and fear; his shoulders moved restlessly. As soon as Thor signaled his readiness, he kicked his mount into a swift trot, and disappeared through the narrow opening.

Loki's booted heel shifted, to urge his own horse after him, but Thor said, voice low, "Loki."

Loki's head turned, brows raised.

"We will return to Asgard through the central vale, and the main pass."

A short silence. Finally, Loki murmured, "Will we?"

"Aye. We will."

"How . . . optimistic of us."

Thor felt his jaw flexing. "There's no need to take that twisted, secret way. There's the danger of becoming trapped, by pursuers, there in those narrow gullies." His voice deepened into a rumbling growl. "And it takes too long."

"Speed is not our only concern, Thor."

"I think it may be. We may well have several hours before they discover the child's absence. . ."

"It could just as well be several minutes," Loki's voice was edged suddenly with some emotion Thor couldn't identify. "We're wasting time as it is, lingering here in tactical discussion."

"No. They're still recovering from the brawl. We will have a little time, and the cover of darkness. By the time dawn breaks, and they realize that she is gone, we will have nearly climbed the pass. We'll have gained the border itself before they can mount a pursuit."

"That's a gamble, Thor. A large one."

Thor set his jaw. "Is it any more a gamble than using yourself as bait to start a brawl?"

Loki tilted his chin, a frown creasing his brow. "That was no gamble. I knew . . . "

"No more schemes," Thor interrupted. "No more subterfuge! A strait-forward gallop back to Asgard, Loki. No more . . . cleverness." He felt his voice cracking unpleasantly on that word, and tried, unsuccessfully, to smooth it.

The frown deepened, and Loki's eyes flickered with some indefinable thought. "Can it be that you see yourself as the voice of reason, here?"

Thor paused, taken aback. "Well . . . yes, I suppose so."

A breath of laughter eased out of Loki's chest, as he rolled his eyes heavenward, contemplating the beggarly moon. Shaking his head, he looked back down at Thor and said, "What a choice piece of irony."

Thor felt his jaw tightening again. "What is?" he growled.

"Shall we say, the difference in our perspectives?" Loki said. He gathered up the reins, and then flipped one hand outward toward the door. "Lead on, brother. I will cover our backs, and take some steps to conceal our tracks."

Thor hesitated, "Up the central vale, then?"

"Aye."

"And over the main pass?"

"As you say. Over the main pass we'll ride. After all, what could possibly go wrong?"

* * *

_**Thanks so much for reading! One more chapter to go!**_


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